


WHAT WOULD YOU DO FOR A RATION BAR?

by potboiler



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Abuse, Adora (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Bullying, Catra (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV Adora (She-Ra), Sad, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)'s A+ Parenting, catradora
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:41:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 77,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22224268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potboiler/pseuds/potboiler
Summary: The Horde Squad turns on each other when Shadow Weaver collectively punishes them for Catra's misbehavior. Can Adora keep order without hurting the ones she loves? If you think the answer is "yes", then you came to the wrong website, friendo.
Relationships: Adora & Catra & Kyle & Lonnie & Rogelio (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Kyle/Rogelio (She-Ra)
Comments: 253
Kudos: 668





	1. The Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content Warning: actual and implied abuse, bullying]

It was midnight in the Fright Zone. The silence of the Horde dormitories was broken by a long, embarrassing rumble from Lonnie’s stomach.

“Shut up, shut up, _shut up!_ ” said Lonnie, ramming her own fist into her gut. She hoped pain would drown out the hunger, but she’d just made it worse. Her insides felt like they were shriveling up, like scraps of paper in a fireplace.

Lonnie screamed into her blanket, scrunched it into as tight as ball as possible and threw it across the room, where Adora caught it like a football. Lonnie almost jumped at the sight of Adora sitting upright in the darkness.

“Adora…” Lonnie rubbed her eyes. “You too hungry to sleep too?”

“No,” said Adora, pushing back a few strands of blonde hair from her face. “Just doing some late-night cramming for Horde History.”

“Ugh.” Lonnie stuck out her tongue. “I forgot you were Weaver’s pet…”

Adora smiled. She was lying, of course. Adora had been up all night worried sick about Catra. Just like the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that…

She thought she’d gotten used to Catra getting herself in trouble. Mischief was Catra’s default setting, after all. But this time was different.

Adora didn’t even see how the fight started. One minute it was just another day in the locker room, and the next Catra was the center of a brawl, being kicked by every cadet in reach. Adora tried to yank Catra away and got a claw to the face. Accidentally, of course, but that didn’t convince Shadow Weaver when she burst in, howling with rage.

Not only did Catra face the penalty for in-fighting, she was guilty of the unofficial crime of harming Shadow Weaver’s favorite cadet. So while Adora and the others got off with little more than a scolding and a stung cheek, Catra had gotten dragged off kicking and screaming to the cells.

It had been six days since then, and Catra was nowhere to be seen. Adora didn’t dare ask Shadow Weaver what had happened. The sorceress was furious enough without being reminded of her least favorite cadet. It would have been like poking a landmine with a stick. But every day Catra was absent from the foot of her bed, Adora’s anxiety grew inside her like a parasite, twisting itself into knots.

That wasn’t even the worst part. Though Adora felt ashamed to admit it, her fear for her friend paled in comparison to the all-consuming hunger of a week-long fast. Adora had never been this hungry in her entire life. It was more than just tummy rumbles. It was nausea, weakness. It robbed the whole squadron of sleep. It _hurt._

Adora thought Shadow Weaver had run out of punishments to inflict on Catra. But this time was different. This time, Shadow Weaver had opted to punish _collectively._

“When did Weaver say we could eat again?” asked Lonnie.

“When Catra apologizes.” said Adora.

“Oh, so, basically, _never?_ ” said Lonnie, bitterly. “Adora, I can’t even remember what a ration bar looks like. I can’t take this anymore.”

“We can,” said Adora. She thumped her chest. “We’re the Horde Squad. We can take anything.”

“Yeah,” muttered Lonnie. “On a full stomach, maybe.”

“Oh, quit whining and go to bed.” Adora dropped a friendly punch on Lonnie’s shoulder, and, because she was afraid of being too harsh on her, added: “Maybe Catra will apologize tomorrow morning?”

Her words had the opposite of their intended effect. “Wha-” Lonnie’s eyes narrowed. “How should I know? She’s _your_ bunkmate. When do _you_ feel like Catra will apologize?”

Adora opened her mouth to answer, but hesitated. As a top-ranking Horde cadet, Adora could rattle off statistics and factoids from memory with barely a moment’s thought. But when it came to questions that contained words like ‘feelings’ and ‘Catra’, the sheer amount of emotional baggage that appeared seized up her brain and turned her into a stuttering idiot.

She knew Catra would resist apologizing to save her pride. At first. But for all her bluster, Catra was a kitten just like Adora was a child, and all the pride in Etheria couldn’t save you from Shadow Weaver. Once the pain started the apologies would come flooding out. She’d probably even apologize for something she hadn’t done, just to shave precious seconds off the time she’d have to spend being…

Adora flinched, like her mind had touched a burning stove. She didn’t know exactly what Shadow Weaver did to Catra in the cell. But she had seen the bruises. The welts. The magic scars etched across her shivering back. And the way Catra would wince when she sat down, and wince so softly she thought nobody would hear it. But Adora did.

If a single hour in that cell could reduce Catra to that, what would six days do?

Part of Adora wanted Catra to resist. To push back against the dark, crushing force of Shadow Weaver’s discipline. What did Catra even have to apologize for? For being picked on? For having reflexes?

But another part of Adora’s mind, the part that had driven her to success in the militaristic cult of the Horde, wanted Catra to just give up. To submit to Weaver’s authority and spare herself, and Adora, and _everyone_ , the agony.

In truth, Catra had just been defending herself. But truth did not matter in the Horde. Obedience mattered. Adora had learned that if Shadow Weaver said your spotless, fanatically well-cleaned uniform was dirty, then it was dirty. Authority came before reality.

Catra should have learned that years ago. But she never accepted all the ways Shadow Weaver was unfair to her. She’d hiss and stamp her feet and would have to be beaten down, every time. In any other environment she would have been considered brave. Maybe even inspiring. But in the Horde? It was like watching someone dig their own grave.

Adora’s concerns for Catra fought savagely in her head, like a sack of angry cats mewling to get out. She wanted to tell Lonnie. Speak to her about Catra and Weaver and let all the feelings out she’d been bottling up for days – no, _years_ \- but she couldn’t. Lonnie had enough pain of her own to suppress without shouldering Adora’s. It would have been like pouring water over someone who was drowning.

So, Adora just said: “I don’t know.”

Lonnie looked down at the floor. “What are we going to do?”

“Go back to bed. Training starts before dawn.”

Lonnie’s eyes clenched shut as she imagined another ten-hour stretch of combat drills. “Oh, great,” she muttered, sarcastically. “More battle simulations to lose. I can’t wait. I was worried my bruises would get time to heal.”

“We’ll get beaten up worse if we’re tired. We need sleep.”

“No, Adora. We need food.”

"Come on, Lonnie. It's not like you can die in a simulation..."

Lonnie put her head in her hands. "I wish we could."

Adora winced with sympathy. As an aspiring Force Captain, she was not the kind of cadet to let her squad-mate’s lack of morale go unchallenged. Adora was a “people-pleaser”, as Catra said. She didn’t want Lonnie to go to bed on such a sad note. Thankfully, there was someone in the Horde squad who was always good for a joke.

“Well, Lonnie, If it’s food you want…’ Adora jabbed a finger to the bunk opposite her own. “I say we eat Kyle.”

Lonnie’s quiet, begrudging giggle warmed Adora’s heart.

“Shut up,” said Lonnie, smiling. “I can’t imagine Kyle tastes good, anyway.”

Adora grinned. “Maybe we should ask Rogelio.”

“That’s not f-funny!” stammered Kyle, hiding under the covers. He too had been pretending to sleep.

“Wasn’t joking, Kyle.” said Lonnie. She cracked her fingerless-gloved knuckles. “C’mere!”

Adora was genuinely impressed at how fast Kyle went from lying down to running at full speed away from Lonnie in an effort to avoid becoming the Horde’s first Kyle-flavoured ration bar. Lonnie gave chase. Both cadets were starving, but Lonnie called on reserves of bloodthirsty Adrenalin to close the distance between her and Kyle. She pounced on top of him like a lion, dropping him face-first into the hard metal floor.

“Alright!” said Lonnie, giving a mock evil smile while her muscular arm locked tight around Kyle’s struggling pencil-neck. “I call dibs on the ribs!”

Her smile faded when she saw the blood trickling out of the spot where Kyle’s face squashed into the metal grating. His nose was broken.

“Oh, shit,” said Lonnie, quietly. Picking on Kyle was a treasured Horde pastime, but she didn’t mean to draw blood. “Kyle, are you oka-”

Lonnie didn’t even finish her sentence before Rogelio’s massive green hand clamped down on the scruff of her neck. Lonnie felt Kyle drop away from her as she was thrown backwards into the dorm. She struck her own bunk, crying out as her ribs clanged against the iron bars, and fell to the floor in a heap.

“You asshole!” cried Lonnie, her eyes watering. “It was an accident!”

A series of threatening snarls rose from Rogelio’s throat.

“Do _not_ start with me, Rogelio!” Lonnie scrambled to her feet in a fighting stance. “Not tonight! Not unless you want a broken nose so you can match your boyfriend!”

Rogelio growled and squared up his emerald green shoulders, built from years of heavy lifting in the Horde munitions depot. Lonnie rose to the challenge, clenching fists matted with scar-tissue from years of bare-knuckle boxing. Kyle rolled under the nearest bunk and hid there, hands clutched tightly around his bleeding nose.

Lonnie was just about to launch a haymaker into Rogelio’s snout when Adora ran between them, arms outstretched.

“Stop it!” cried Adora. “We are in enough trouble without you braining each other in the middle of the dorm! For Hodak’s sake, we are cadets, not undisciplined-”

Adora flinched as Lonnie’s finger thrust in her face.

“Don’t! Lecture! Me!” shouted Lonnie, jabbing with her finger for emphasis. “You’re not Force Captain yet, Adora! You’re just another starving cadet like us!”

Adora suppressed the bubbles of anger rising in her head. “I don’t need to be Force Captain to tell when you’re being stupid!”

“Oh, I’m stupid?” Lonnie’s voice was cracking with frustration. “I’m not the one refusing to apologize for no reason! I'm not the one getting the entire squad in trouble!”

“I told you to stop!” Blood was rushing to Adora’s face. She could feel it simmering.

“And you defend her! Catra cut your face open and you _defend_ her!”

“She didn’t mean to! Did you mean to break Kyle’s nose?”

“No, but I _apologized!_ ” Lonnie wasn't even trying not to shout any more. “And it took me, what, five seconds!? I didn’t have to be starved! I didn’t have to be beaten into being a nice person like some kind of…disgusting animal!”

_“SHUT UP!”_

Adora’s scream nailed Lonnie to the wall. The two cadets watched each other warily, waiting to see what would happen next. Adora was expecting Lonnie to scream back, pull out a stun gun, throw a punch, or a kick, but then something happened that completely took Adora by surprise.

Lonnie, the toughest girl she knew, was crying. Even in the darkness of the Horde dormitory, Adora could see the light glinting off the tears forming in the corners of Annie’s angry brown eyes. She was actually crying. Not over a grueling injury. Not over a failed mission. Over food.

“I..I...” she said. Her fists began to shake. “I’m just so…so…”

“Hungry.” said Adora. As if on cue, her own stomach contracted, her body desperately trying to find nourishment that just wasn’t there.

They both looked at their feet. Kyle rolled out from under the bed and was helped up by Rogelio. The anger in the air had died away, but there was no relief. Just a cold, miserable silence. The cadets returned to their bunks, afraid of giving each other any more reason to be upset.

Adora lay there, staring at ceiling of her bunk. Her stomach was empty but her mind was very, very full.

For the first day, Shadow Weaver’s collective punishment had been bad, but it was nothing the squadron couldn’t endure. Horde life made you tough. Nobody was going to break down over being sent to bed without any supper. Not even Kyle.

But now almost a week of missed meals was adding up. Ration bars tasted like wet concrete, but they were nutritious, and with the Horde’s ultra-intense training regimen the squad needed all the nutrients they could get. When squadron was running on fumes, battle simulations went from fun to downright punishing. They could barely even hold the fake, plastic-y weapons anymore, let alone parry blows with them. They'd been beaten black and blue yesterday, and they were guaranteed the same treatment tomorrow.

Everything was harder when you were hungry. Training. Sleeping. Even getting along with your friends.

Adora clenched her eyes shut, forcing herself to sleep. The bunk just didn't feel right without Catra's warm, purring weight on her legs. It felt unbalanced. Adora tried to fill the void with memories, recalling all the times Catra had whispered into her ear while she slept. _Hey, Adora. You asleep yet? Hey, Adora. You feel so warm tonight. Hey, Adora. Hey. Hey. Hey._

"A-Adora..."

Her eyes shot open. She definitely hadn't imagined that one.

Catra was standing in the entrance to the dorm. No. Not standing. Adora noticed Catra's feet floating a few inches clear of the floor. Her painfully skinny body was suspended in a corona of blood red light. Suddenly, a pair of glowing white eyes opened in the darkness behind her.

 _"Excellent. You're awake."_ said Shadow Weaver. _"The apology can begin."_


	2. The Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content warning: both physical and implied abuse, emotional manipulation]

The entire squadron stood to attention at the foot of their bunks. Shoulders squared. Chests out. Hands behind backs. Trying their hardest to pretend they were elite Horde cadets and not scared little kids.

 _"Much better."_ said Shadow Weaver. 

As Shadow Weaver floated through the door, her tendrils filled the dormitory like smoke from some warmthless, lightless fire. She dragged Catra with her like a pet on an invisible leash.

Adora watched Catra floating through the dorm with silent, expressionless fear. She didn't know how it felt to be bound with magic. Shadow Weaver had never turned the Black Garnet’s powers against her – at least, as far as Adora could remember - but she could tell from the way Catra hissed through gritted fangs that it _hurt._

When Catra reached the middlemost bunk, Shadow Weaver clenched her fist. Gravity reasserted itself over Catra’s body and she crashed to the floor. Before Catra even had the chance to catch her breath, the magic seized her again, forcing her to kneel. 

_“Last chance, Catra.”_ Shadow Weaver looked down with disdain. _“Apologize."_

 _Please say sorry please say sorry._ Adora clenched her jaw shut, trying with all her might to keep her feelings from bursting into the open. _I’m begging you Catra just say sorry you’re the only one who can end it-_

Catra spat. “No.”

Adora almost shook with the effort of not screaming.

 _“Very well,”_ said Shadow Weaver, turning to the assembled cadets. _“I am sure you four understand why I am here tonight.”_

The squadron squirmed under Shadow Weaver's gaze like prisoners under a spotlight. The dorm was the closest thing they got to a sanctuary in the Fright Zone. It was the one spot they could relax after a rough day's training and just be themselves. Seeing Shadow Weaver gliding into it felt invasive. Was nowhere safe? Was there anything they had that Shadow Weaver could not take away?

 _"I have tried to make Catra understand that her actions do not only harm herself, but those around her.”_ Shadow Weaver shook her head in a patronizing display of false pity. _“Alas, she is unmoved by your six days of suffering."_

Adora stole a glance at Catra. She looked anything BUT unmoved. Catra never wore her feelings in the open, but it was not hard to read between the lines. Her eyes radiated anger and defiance, but everything else screamed fear. Her ears were flattened. Her Horde uniform was glued to her body with sweat. Her cheeks were streaked with dried tears. 

_“I thought punishing you would bring out the best in her. Remind her of the loyalty she owes to her fellow cadets.”_ Shadow Weaver paused. _“But perhaps I have been…unfair.”_

Adora’s eyes widened. No. No way. Was Weaver about to show mercy? 

_"Yes. I have kept her all to myself,”_ said Shadow Weaver, _“I have denied you – the sensible, obedient cadets - the chance to express your anger at her selfish actions."_

Adora’s hope of a happy ending was snuffed out as quickly as it had appeared.

 _"Your mission, cadets,”_ She gestured to the trembling magicat at her feet. _“Is to convince this creature to apologize. If you succeed, you get to eat.”_

The cadets stood silently as Shadow Weaver’s words settled in their ears. 

Adora was immediately struck with a crossfire of emotions. The promise of food after so long was such relief that she nearly cried on the spot, but the sweet relief was soured by the wide-awake nightmare playing out in front of her. It was being stuck in the desert for days without water and somebody handing you a bottle of poison. 

As she struggled with her own mind, Adora became aware the entire squad was staring at her. Three pairs of frightened eyes darted between her and Shadow Weaver. 

According to the official Horde hierarchy, Adora, Kyle, Lonnie, Rogelio, and Catra were all equally subordinate under Shadow Weaver, but everybody knew that Adora was Weaver’s golden cadet. As a result, Adora was only one who could hold a conversation with the sorceress without becoming paralytic with fear. That privilege came with responsibility. Adora had to speak on their behalf.

"As Shadow Weaver commands, the squadron obeys!" barked Adora. 

Shadow Weaver gave a gentle, joyless laugh. _“Eager as always, Adora.”_

Adora saluted. “How do you want me to convince her, ma’am?”

 _"However you can."_ said Shadow Weaver, casually. _"A Force-Captain should know the measure of each squad member's endurance. Especially since you seem so...fond of her. If you think Catra can be talked into apologizing, then do so.”_ Her eyes hardened. _“But if not..."_

Shadow Weaver pulled something from the folds of her dress. A belt. A length of black leather ending in a large metal buckle etched with the jagged scarlet icon of the Horde. 

There was an icy silence as Adora, Lonnie, Rogelio, and Kyle all regarded the implement. Belts were a perfectly normal part of the Horde uniform, but bitter experience had taught them that a belt in the hands of an angry Shadow Weaver was something to be feared. Nobody said a word, but there was no misunderstanding about Shadow Weaver’s intentions. She wanted them to beat Catra themselves.

The air grew tenser. It wasn’t as if the squad had hurt each other before. There had been sparring accidents, horseplay, and flickers of petty anger that sparked short locker-room fights that were more embarrassing than painful. But this was different. This was…cruel. 

Adora swallowed. The Horde had done everything in its power to banish ideas like “honor” from the minds of its cadets, but Adora was confident there was something wrong with beating someone who couldn’t even move, much less fight back. Yet Adora was equally confident that, when it came to direct orders, her feelings were totally irrelevant. If she'd taken up the habit of disobeying commands because she believed they were wrong, she’d have been exiled to Beast Island long ago.

The Horde was not a fairy-tale. Those who listened to their conscience didn’t end up prevailing against all odds and living happily ever after in some icing-sugar castle. They ended up earning a lot of pain before being put back in their place. Or they died. Whichever happened faster. 

As Adora watched Catra twitch in the grip of Shadow Weaver’s magic, she thought back to her tactical seminars. Shadow Weaver gesturing to a diagram of thousands of soldiers, scattered around in a dance of death, and her younger self listening with rapt attention. “When victory is impossible, it is the mark of a good captain to choose the _least painful defeat._ " 

That was it. There was no way Catra was getting out of this one unscathed, but Adora could soften the blow. She could grab Catra before anyone else could and shake some sense into her. Put on a big show of regret and humility and discipline for Shadow Weaver that would keep her off Catra's back. There would be time for licking wounds later once the others had their fill of rations and Catra was safe and sound in her bunk. All she had to do now was make herself numb and get it over with quickly. Maybe she could talk Catra down. Obviously, Catra would resist Shadow Weaver to the bitter end, but Adora knew Catra could never say no to her bunkmate. She couldn't.

Could she?

Adora stood to her attention, waiting for the moment Shadow Weaver would call her forward. But the moment never came. Instead, Shadow Weaver ignored her and headed straight for Kyle’s bunk. Adora watched Kyle accept the belt with shaking hands, a bruise still stamped into the bridge of his nose from Lonnie's tackle. His fear was palpable. 

_"Do not disappoint me, Cadet Kyle."_

"Y-Yes, ma'am."

Oh, Kyle. Poor Kyle. He didn't want much of life except to be left alone, and yet he was destined to fail even in that humble mission. He didn’t seem to enjoy hurting people. He didn’t even enjoy hurting the holograms they destroyed in the training simulations. Did Weaver really expect him to belt Catra into submission?

He stepped forward and looked down at Catra, his tired, heavy-lidded eyes struggling to meet her piercing heterochromatic gaze. Even when she was bound and helpless by a cloud of dark magic, Kyle was still frightened of Catra. He had twenty very sharp, pointy reasons to feel that way. 

To his horror, Catra smiled as he approached.

“Kyle!?” Catra gave a weak giggle. “You gotta be kidding me. You seriously think _Kyle's_ gonna whip me into shape?” 

Adora groaned internally. 

“Please, Catra!” stammered Kyle. “This is your fault! Everybody's starving because of you!”

“Aw, tough guy all of a sudden?” Catra shot him a vicious glare over her heavily scarred shoulders. “You wouldn’t be running your mouth like that if Weaver wasn’t here, would you? Not after I what I did to you in the last battle sim. Bet this is what you’ve always wanted, huh Kyle?”

Kyler held the belt above his head. “I d-didn’t want this.”

He covered his eyes and bought with arm down. Adora braced herself, expecting a vicious blow. Instead, the belt flopped against Catra with as much force as a friendly pat on the back. 

Kyle quickly held up the belt to Shadow Weaver. “F-Finished, m-ma’am!”

 _“That’s all?”_ Shadow Weaver’s eyes flared like torches. _“That’s the measure of your anger after six days of starvation?”_

Kyle looked uncertainly from side to side. “Y-Yes?”

Shadow Weaver glowered. _“Do you think yourself merciful, Kyle? Like those pretty Princesses up at Bright Moon?”_

“Well, n-no, but-”

 _“No indeed.”_ Shadow Weaver’s eyes narrowed. _“That wasn’t mercy, Kyle, that was weakness. You let her intimidate you. Like a coward. Are you a coward, Kyle?”_

“N-No!” 

Shadow Weaver leaned in close to Kyle’s thin, petrified face and focused all her considerable powers of intimidation into three whispered words. _“Then prove it.”_

Kyle swung the belt overhead. There was an unpleasant thud and Catra was flung forward, gasping with shock at the unexpected force of the blow.

Kyle’s arms hung limp by his sides as he watched the skin on Catra’s back flower into a deep purple bruise. His mouth flapped as his brain searched for an excuse. “I didn’t – I didn’t – I didn’t want – you made me…”

 _“Good, Kyle, good!”_ Shadow Weaver ruffled Kyle’s blonde hair with her unnaturally pale fingers, eliciting a quiet whimper. _“There is hope for you yet.”_ She extracted the belt from Kyle’s limp, unresisting hands. _“Cadet Lonnie. Step forward.“_

Adora felt like she was going to throw up, even on an empty stomach. Shadow Weaver’s strategy was becoming clear. She _knew_ Adora would have been able to convince Catra to apologize easily. Which was exactly why she wouldn’t give her the chance. Weaver wasn't just punishing Catra. She was punishing _her_ too.

There was no hope of victory. There was no hope even for a less painful defeat. Catra would have to face every cadet in the room. 


	3. The Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content warning: physical abuse, emotional manipulation]

_"Do not disappoint me, Cadet Lonnie."_

The belt fell into Lonnie’s hands. She shot a glance at Adora, then stepped slowly towards the kneeling, shivering form of Catra in the middle of the dorm. Shadow Weaver, barely visible as a red-tinged shadow in the darkness of the Horde dormitory, watched over the scene with interest. 

Lonnie was giving Catra the kind of stare Adora had seen her give punching-bags in the exercise chamber. It was a one-of-a-kind glare – one without a hint of emotion that nonetheless promised a lot of violence was about to occur. Catra returned it with a grin. 

“Well, well, well, well, well,” said Catra. She tried to look smug, insofar as it was even possible to look smug when you were covered in bruises and clad in a ripped-to-hell Horde uniform. “Now this is more like it. You’re looking fit, Lonnie.” Catra’s voice went low. “Guess we both lost weight this week, eh?”

Lonnie gripped the belt in her hand as if she was trying to strangle it.

“What’s the matter?” Catra gave a trembling wheeze that Adora guessed might have been an attempt at laughter. “Cat got your tongu-”

“If the next two words out of your mouth aren’t ‘I’m Sorry’, I am going to hit you with this as hard as I can.” said Lonnie, bluntly. “And unlike Kyle, I will not stop at one.”

Catra maintained her mocking stare, but Adora noticed her ears flatten even lower. It was an involuntary fear-reflex, and with good reason. A threat from Lonnie was not to be taken lightly. Six days without food had done surprisingly little to shrink her muscles, nor her willingness to use them. 

_Please Catra please please please_ thought Adora, still stood to attention outside her bunk, refusing to betray any sign of her inner panic-attack. _Please for Horde’s sake cut your losses say sorry stop pretending stop hurting yourself_

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about I’m going to say to you, Catra.” said Lonnie. “You probably think you’re being treated unfairly, right? You think you don’t have anything to apologize for.” 

Catra just kneeled there, still grinning. 

"Well, we have just spent the last week of training on a strict diet of _absolutely nothing,_ ” said Lonnie. “Because of something _you_ did. That’s gotta be worth a sorry, right?” 

Catra rolled her eyes and yawned. 

Lonnie’s left eye twitched with barely contained anger. Somehow being ignored by Catra was even more infuriating than being sassed by Catra. After a moment of internal struggle, Lonnie called on her last remaining shred of patience. She knelt down beside Catra, and spoke very carefully into her flattened, tufted ear. 

“I cried over this, Catra.” whispered Lonnie. “I actually cried. And I didn’t even cry when Octavia broke my hand. Do you remember? I was eight years old and I thought I could spar with the big girls.” Lonnie gave a hollow chuckle. “Stupid of me, I know, but I still managed to swallow my tears.”

Catra’s forced grin began to collapse. She was trying to hide the pain, like she always did, but all her sass and bravado couldn’t stop the momentary flicker of empathy between one scared, starving cadet and another. Lonnie noticed, and pushed further. 

“And now here I am, crying over ration bars. That’s what you’ve done to me.” Lonnie leaned closer. “Don’t you think that’s worth apologizing for?”

Adora watched Catra out of the corner of her eye. She could see feelings of regret trembling across Catra’s face, but somehow, she managed to overrule them. She looked at Lonnie and silently mouthed ‘no’.

Lonnie rose from the floor. "Then I guess Shadow Weaver’s right.” she said. “You’re just a wild animal.”

Catra's head darted forward and spat across Lonnie's cheek. Only Shadow Weaver’s sigh broke the heavy silence that followed. 

Lonnie very slowly wiped the spit off her face. "I'm glad you did that, Catra." she said, with the calm that came before a storm. "Or I would have felt really bad about doing this." 

She braced her hand against Catra’s shoulder, raised the belt, and delivered on every word of her threat. And then some. Catra did not cry out, but she could not stop her tears. They boiled out of her tightly clenched eyes as she was knocked left and right by the hard-swung belt.

Catra dug her claws into her palms, shaking with the effort of containing the screams building up in her lungs. Her painfully skinny body provided no soft tissue to cushion the blows. Every stroke from Lonnie hit tense, aching muscle. Even when starved and sleepless, Lonnie’s unremitting discipline allowed her to hit and keep hitting long after weaker cadets would have been exhausted. There was almost a rhythm to it. 

Adora stared at the wall in front of her and tried to ignore the sound of leather and steel on skin, tried to act like nothing was happening, tried to pretend that her heart wasn’t cracking open and drowning her. Only when the blows finally stopped, after what seemed like an eternity, did Adora even dare to look. 

Catra’s Horde uniform was now completely ripped open. Every inch of skin from the nape of her neck to the small of her back was red-raw and flecked with bruises. Adora felt the nerves on her back shiver with second-hand agony. Suddenly, Adora's mind was aflame with ideas like rushing over to Catra, carrying Catra to the infirmary, seeing Catra through the pain with ice-packs and ear-scritches and neck-kisses like she'd done countless times before. But Adora's body just stayed rooted to the spot. Like a good cadet. 

Lonnie wiped the sweat off her brow. She could barely catch her breath, but she rose high enough on the burst of adrenalin that came with sheer exhaustion to wheeze: “Say…you’re…sorry.”

There was no response from Catra. She was staring deep into the floor.

Lonnie threw the belt down. “Say it!”

When Catra finally turned her eyes up at Lonnie, they were glistening blue-and-gold portals into agony. Catra drew a long, shaking breath before she spoke.

“That…didn’t…hurt.”

Adora watched Lonnie’s face, saw the expression twist from shocked disbelief, to sympathy, then finally to cold fury. “Stop.” she said, quietly. “Stop it right now.”

Catra forced another grin, even as her lower lip trembled. “Stop what?”

“Stop pretending! Stop pretending you’re not in pain! Stop pretending you're above this! This is horrible and you _know_ it! For Horde’s sake, Catra, you’re crying!”

“I’m not crying!” cried Catra, as tears dribbled off her chin. She gave an undignified, heaving sob before managing to choke out. “This is just…sweat!”

“No!” Lonnie held her head in her hands, as if she were trying to squeeze the unwelcome thoughts out of her own mind. “No, no, no! It’s not fair! Why do I feel fucking _sad_ for you? This is your fault! You did this to yourself!”

Shadow Weaver stepped out from the darkest corner of the dorm. _“That’s enough.”_

“All you had to do was tell me to stop, and I would!" cried Lonnie. "You could have said sorry after one blow! You could-” 

_“Stand to attention, cadet!”_ Shadow Weaver’s voice could have shattered rock.

Lonnie’s instincts kicked in. Once she’d finished her salute, she blinked through red-rimmed eyes, as if waking from a dream, and stared submissively up into the tower of darkness that was Shadow Weaver.

“I…” Lonnie began.

Shadow Weaver's slap knocked her to the floor. 

_"You have said enough already."_ Red sparks fell from Shadow Weaver's hands. The belt rose from the floor and slithered into her grasp like a black, leathery, buckle-headed serpent. _"I am very disappointed with you."_

Shadow Weaver raised the belt. Lonnie curled up into a ball, shielding her face with her elbows, expecting the belt-buckle to strike down at any moment. Instead, Shadow Weaver tossed the belt over her shoulder towards Rogelio, who snatched it from the air.

 _"Finish the job."_ said Shadow Weaver, still keeping her gaze fixed on Lonnie. 

Rogelio gave an affirmative growl, and stepped forward.

Adora felt fresh anxiety twist and knot inside her. Rogelio was strong. He was built like a brick wall painted green with a Horde uniform stretched around it. Like a lot of cadets in the Horde, he let his muscles do all the thinking. Rogelio executed orders without hesitation, compunction, or backtalk, or indeed any talk at all. He was practically mute. If the chance that Lonnie or Kyle could have talked Catra down had been slim, the chance that Rogelio could do the same was almost nonexistent.

Rogelio realized this too. He may have been quiet and cold-blooded but he was _not_ stupid. He doubted he could convince Catra to apologize even if he had a full mammalian vocabulary. Even so, staring at Catra's bruised, trembling back, he felt obligated to try.

A pointed reptilian claw tapped Catra on her sensitive shoulder. The flare of agony forced Catra to look up at Rogelio. Her expression of furious misery collided with his placid look of concern.

Rogelio brought his scaly palms together in a 'please' gesture and gave a hopeful growl. 

Catra hung her head. She reached out and steadied her hands on the floor, exposing her back.

"Just..." She gave a hiccuping sob. "Just get it over with."

Adora was astonished to see Rogelio's eyes fall. She'd never seen Rogelio take this long to obey an order.

"What are you waiting for?" cried Catra. She couldn't stand it. Waiting for the pain to come. Sometimes the anticipation of agony was far, far worse than the agony. 

Rogelio clenched and unclenched his fist around the belt as some kind of internal debate raged in his head. The belt looked tiny in his burly green hands.

"Brainless...meathead...Kylefucker!" Catra snuffled pathetically between insults. "Just _hit_ me! _Hit me you-_ "

Rogelio bought his fist down on the back of Catra's head. There was a whimper and Catra flopped to the ground. The last thing she heard was Adora calling her name. Then there was only silence.


	4. The Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content warning: physical abuse, emotional manipulation. Don't worry. I promise something nice will happen in the next few chapters.]

The moment Catra’s unconscious body hit the cold metal floor of the Horde dormitory, a violent struggle unfolded.

Rogelio was seized in a cloud of binding-magic by an enraged Shadow Weaver. He snarled as she dragged him forwards, then gave a pitiful, high-pitched roar as the belt landed on his snout with a sharp thud. 

Rogelio’s snout was the only part of his body that hadn’t been desensitized by years of combat-training. He liked to let Kyle stroke it when they were alone together. So when the belt struck, the pain was enough to make him collapse and join Lonnie in writhing on the floor. 

Kyle yelled at Shadow Weaver to stop. He paid for this mistake with a black eye to accompany his broken nose.

Adora screamed for Catra far louder than she meant to, and rushed to the fallen magicat’s side. She put her arms around Catra’s shoulders and tried to lift up her head, sobs welling up in her throat as she put her ear to Catra’s chest.

_Please please please please please_

She almost melted with relief at the sound of Catra's fluttering heartbeat. 

Adora watched Catra's serene, unconscious face through eyes glistening with unshed tears. Less than an hour ago, she had been worried about Catra enduring Shadow Weaver's punishment without having trouble sitting down the next morning. Now, she was starting to seriously doubt that Catra would make it through the night alive. 

That _stupid_ lizard! Why hadn’t he used the belt? What was he thinking, punching Catra like that? He always got top marks in the close-combat drills. Surely, he should have known a straight blow to the back of the head would instantly knock out -

Oh. 

Realization struck Adora like a bolt of lightning. Rogelio had been clever. He’d reduced what could have been a potentially back-breaking thrashing to a single, merciful bonk on the head. And the best part was that he’d still technical been ‘obeying’ Shadow Weaver. Not that it had made her any less furious, but _still._

Yes, Catra was out cold. But she’d stopped spitting insults in all directions and getting herself in even deeper trouble, and would soon be in the infirmary, where there would be ice-packs, painkillers and, most importantly, a chance for Adora to speak to her without Shadow Weaver breathing down their necks.

A tiny ember of hope flickered in the frozen pit of Adora’s heart. Maybe things would be alright after all. Maybe she wouldn’t have to-

_“Cadet Adora?”_

Adora looked up, still cradling Catra in her arms like a kitten, and saw Shadow Weaver’s white eyes glaring at her from behind curtains of ink-black hair. 

_“Explain yourself.”_

Shadow Weaver’s tone was calm, but Adora noticed tendrils of magically incarnated rage rising off her body like smoke. Adora could tell she was on thin ice. She would have to pick her next words carefully. 

“Forgive me, ma’am.” Adora laid Catra very gently onto the floor, which infuriated Shadow Weaver even further. Adora stood back up and snapped to attention while her mind grasped at an excuse. “I'm just trying to help you.”

 _"No. You're helping Catra."_ Shadow Weaver swooped closer to Adora with alarming speed. _“Did I order you to help Catra?”_

“No, ma’am.” Adora could feel the ice cracking under her feet. 

_“Yet here you are. Helping her.”_ Shadow Weaver spat the last two words as if they were poison. The shadows in the room lengthened. 

"I did not mean to disobey you, ma'am." said Adora, forcing herself to keep calm.

Shadow Weaver's head cocked to the side. _"Then what did you mean to do?"_

Adora swallowed. "Help my fellow cadet, as is my Horde-given duty."

_"Correct."_ Shadow Weaver gestured behind her. _"But Lonnie is your fellow cadet too. And Rogelio. And Kyle. Yet I do not see you rushing to help any of them."_

Adora stared shamefully at the Horde Squad behind Shadow Weaver. Her eyes ran from cadet to cadet. Lonnie, curled tightly into a ball. Rogelio clutching his blooded snout. Kyle clutching Rogelio's tail like a security blanket. Adora swore to herself she'd make it up to them, even if it took her entire life.

 _“You stood happily to attention and let them do your dirty work.”_ said Shadow Weaver. _"Yet when it came to Catra, the reason you are all starving, you were compelled to disobey..."_

Frustration boiled up inside Adora’s empty stomach. Shadow Weaver was speaking about the Horde Squad’s six days of collective punishment as if it hadn’t been _her_ idea in the first place. But unlike Catra, Adora knew how to keep her rage on the inside.

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

 _"How many times must you make the same mistake, Adora?"_ Shadow Weaver moved closer. Her dark tendrils filled Adora's entire vision. _"Catra rushes into trouble, you rush to her rescue, and she makes you suffer for it.…”_

Shadow Weaver reached out and delicately stroked the half-healed claw marks on Adora’s cheek. Adora didn’t even flinch. She was probably the only cadet in the entire Horde who didn’t shrink in fear from Shadow Weaver’s touch. And as much as she loathed to admit it, even to herself, Adora drew comfort from it. Even if the hand which so gently caressed her face had done terrible things to her fellow cadets, Adora could not stop the warmth which washed over her.

Affection was rare in the Horde. Like water in a desert. You had to take what you could get. 

_“Honestly, child,”_ tutted Shadow Weaver. _“Why do you keep risking your dreams to help someone who’d never do the same for you?”_

“Because she _would_ and I _love_ her.” 

Of course, Adora didn’t actually say that. Not unless she’d been feeling suicidal. Adora had learned to censor herself around Shadow Weaver since she’d been old enough to speak, so she simply hung her head and endured her scolding in silence. Like a good cadet. 

There were many painful mistakes a young cadet could make in the Horde. Accidentally treading on Octavia’s tentacles. Holding a stun-rod at the wrong end. Speaking to Hordak. Making eye contact with Hordak. Simply existing in the same _room_ as Hordak. 

But by far, the most lethal and unforgivable mistake of all was loving another cadet.

It wasn’t as if the Horde was emotionless. Bloodlust, envy, pride, fanaticism, and all the many shades of sadism performed vital functions in the Horde hierarchy. Adora suspected that the reason most cadets even got up in the morning was to settle grudges in the battle sims. 

But love? The Horde officially classified love as a dangerous drug. At best it was begrudgingly tolerated. But if the officers suspected, even for a moment, that you placed the ones you loved over the greater glory of the Horde, punishment was sure to follow. Even the fumbling Kyle had learned to play it subtle with Rogelio.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said Adora, leaning into Shadow Weaver’s palm. 

_“Cease your moping.”_ Shadow Weaver patted Adora gently on the cheek. _“It’s not_ your _apology I’m after.”_ She produced the Horde-icon belt from somewhere about her flowing maroon robes. _“You’ve never disappointed me before, Adora. You have always succeeded where others have failed. I trust that tonight will be no exception.”_

Shadow Weaver didn’t just drop the belt into Adora’s hands as she had for the other cadets. She gently placed it in Adora’s palm and folded her other hand over it, as if she were a mother bestowing a beloved heirloom to her daughter.

Adora burned with shame at the gentle touch. She knew Shadow Weaver could be so patient and kind when she wanted to. Adora just wished, with all her heart, that Shadow Weaver would extend her kindness to Catra. 

“Ma’am…” Adora fiddled with the belt in her hands. “I _can’t_ make Catra apologize -”

The electric lights in the ceiling flickered as Shadow Weaver leaned in closer, smouldering darkness. _“You can. You will.”_

Adora almost swallowed her own tongue. But she persisted. “Ma’am, I literally can’t make Catra apologize. I can’t make her do anything. She’s unconscious.” 

Shadow Weaver glared at Catra’s comatose body as if this fact had only just occurred to her. Catra lay there, her chest gently rising and falling as if she was fast asleep, her peacefully unconscious expression making a mockery of Shadow Weaver’s punishment. 

_"Then we'll have to wake her up then, won't we?"_

“I can take her to the infirmary.” said Adora. "They have revival serum. I can carry her there in ten minutes." 

To Adora’s horror, Shadow Weaver just laughed. _“The infirmary? You have so much still to learn, Adora. Do you really think this is the first time Catra has pretended to be unconscious to escape punishment?”_ She held out her hand. _“Observe.”_

Adora flinched in terror as a bolt of crimson flashed from Shadow Weaver’s palm and earthed itself on Catra’s body, jolting her chest upwards. 

Catra made a noise somewhere between a shriek and a heaving gasp as she awoke. Her saucer-wide, heterochromatic eyes blinked in the light for a few moments before she covered them with her hands, moaning as the throbbing pain from Rogelio’s punch flooded back into her conscious mind. Suddenly, being knocked out cold seemed like absolute bliss.

When Catra removed her hands, she found herself squinting through a mist of tears at the distorted, out-of-focus face of Shadow Weaver, who was kneeling over her. Catra barely had time to breathe before a pale, spindly hand clamped down onto her cheek. 

_“Thought you could play dead, did you? You’re not in the jungle anymore, you little beast.”_

“No,” squeaked Catra. Unlike Adora, she had good reason to fear Shadow Weaver’s icy touch. Her fingers dredged up terrible memories from kittenhood. “No, no, nonono-”

A hard slap ended Catra’s protests. Shadow Weaver forced Catra’s trembling eyelids open and conjured a beam of magical light directly into her dilated pupil. Catra whimpered helplessly as Weaver’s sharp garnet-black fingernail hovered the merest fraction of an inch above her delicate golden eye.

 _“See? Just a concussion.”_ said Shadow Weaver, casually. _“I see no reason for you to trouble the infirmary. You may proceed with the apology. Do not keep me waiting any longer.”_

Adora stared in utter defeat as Shadow Weaver stepped backwards from Catra, melting into the dark corners of the dormitory until only her glowing white eyes were visible. 

And just like that, Adora was in the position she feared from the start. The last cadet standing, trapped between a weeping Catra and a vengeful Shadow Weaver. 

At this moment, Catra had struggled to her knees, supporting her bruised body on the iron frame of a nearby bunk like a shipwrecked survivor clinging to driftwood. Shadow Weaver hadn’t even needed to bind Catra with magic this time. The physical consequences of three consecutive beatings did that job for her. 

As Adora stepped in front of Catra, belt in hand, she saw Catra struggle to see her through concussed, blurry eyes. When Catra finally brought Adora into focus, she actually managed to smile.

"Heeeeeey, Adora." 


	5. The Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content warning: physical abuse, serious emotional manipulation]
> 
> This chapter was probably the hardest to write.

When Adora was a child of eight, Shadow Weaver had led her gently away from the barracks one night and into a room which looked totally different from everywhere else in the Fright Zone. It had turned out to be something Weaver called a ‘library’. 

At first Adora thought the library was dark, boring, and scary, kind of like Shadow Weaver herself, and yearned to return to her bunk where Catra was waiting to playfight and purr. But then Shadow Weaver had pushed a huge book about something called ‘tactics’ in front of her, and life was never the same.

Years later, Adora was on the road to Force Captainship. She had tirelessly studied Hordak's rise to power and all the lessons that could be learned from it. Not just the little lessons like how to flank or ambush or interrogate, but the really important lessons. The kind that taught Force Captains how they should feel, not just fight. 

And what was a Force Captain supposed to feel?

_Nothing._

A Force Captain did not love. A Force Captain did not cry. 

A Force Captain simply…did.

You didn’t conquer Etheria by being friends with people. And as for pain? You had to be willing to endure it _and_ inflict it. A true Force Captain could beat their best friend into a puddle of blood and feel nothing but a little soreness in their knuckles. 

By applying the blood-soaked lessons of Horde History to her daily training, Adora single-handedly bumped up the Horde Squad to the upper ranks of the battle sim leader boards. She wasn’t just strong, she made everyone around her stronger too. She could point Rogelio’s brute strength in the right direction, fight in flawless sync with Lonnie, and even turn Kyle’s habit of running away and hiding when the battle started into some form of effective stealth. 

Shadow Weaver called her a prodigy. Catra called her a badass. The praise went to Adora’s head, intoxicating her, and she forgot the all-too important fact that a battle simulation against robots is not the same as a struggle with real flesh and blood. 

And so, now the chance had arisen for Adora to apply those blood-soaked lessons to Catra, who kneeled in the dark with ugly bruises blooming under her skin and tearstains crisscrossing her cheeks, Adora began to realize she was not the stone-cold killer she thought she was. 

She did not feel like a badass. She just felt _bad._

But she marched on. Shadow Weaver had given her an order, and that was that. The mission had to be completed. 

Catra tried to stand up as Adora approached. She may have been starved and concussed and moments away from bawling, but she still had pride. She wasn’t going to be talked down to by her own bunkmate. She wanted meet Adora face to face, as an equal…

But the moment Catra tried to move, all the torn places on her back opened wide and pumped out fresh agony, turning her legs to jelly. Catra gave a quiet mewl and slumped back on her knees, clutching onto the bunk for dear life. 

Adora knelt down to Catra’s level and sat with her hands neatly folded across her lap, less than an arm’s reach away from the battered cat girl. Catra was taking a keen interest in the ground, doing everything in her power to avoid looking at Adora.

When Adora finally spoke, her voice was steady and authoritative. 

“Look at me.” 

There was no response. Adora thought about grabbing Catra’s chin and forcing eye contact, and hated herself for even _thinking_ about doing that. Catra had enough reasons to dislike being touched as it was. So, Adora repeated herself.

“Look. At. Me.”

“I can’t.” replied Catra. 

“Why?”

Catra smiled. “Because if I do, I might hug you. Really hard.”

Adora gave no reaction even as her heart melted into her chest. 

“No more jokes, Catra.”

"I’m not joking.” Catra looked up. Her mismatched eyes, usually so bright and piercing, were unfocused and red. It was as if she was drunk on the pain. “I didn’t see you for six days, Adora. I don’t care about the hunger or the beatings but when I go to sleep and you’re not there…”

Catra’s voice cracked with emotion. She couldn’t bring herself to finish, and hid her pain with an unconvincing smile. 

A million tiny voices in Adora’s head screamed for her to hug Catra right then and there, to stroke her ears and devour her neck with kisses, but each and every one of them were overruled by the knowledge that Shadow Weaver was watching. Even though her back was turned, Adora could almost feel Weaver’s white-flame eyes sear into her. Judging her. Urging her to strike.

“This isn’t the time, Catra.”

Catra shivered, resigning herself to the fact that, tonight, she was destined to be starved of both ration bars and loving touches. She took a long look at the dorm around her, blinking hard and slow as if seeing it for the first time. "How long was I out for?”

“Less than a minute.”

“Felt like way longer.” Catra pressed her burning forehead against the cold metal frame of the bunk, trying to make herself numb. “Why’d she have to wake me up? I was having this kickass dream where I _died._ It was great.”

“Don’t say that.” said Adora, quietly.

“But it was.” Catra smiled. She liked seeing Adora worry about her. “You’d really like being dead, Adora. Nobody hits you with belts. Or starves you. It’s awesome…”

Adora reassured herself that Catra was joking. She was happy to see Catra’s sass-mouth had survived the beating, but her mind was wandering, and that was not a good thing. Adora knew more than anyone that Catra’s mind could wander into some dark, dark places. 

You didn’t share a bunk with Catra for over ten years without noticing she whimpered in her sleep. When she did, Adora would ease her hands under the blankets and Catra would nuzzle into them with a soft, rumbling purr and they'd ride out the nightmare together. 

That’s what was so infuriating. Making Catra happy was so _easy_ when they were alone together, hidden in the warm darkness of the barracks. But right now they were exposed and vulnerable. Bedtime nuzzles were not a viable option with Shadow Weaver in the room and the Horde Squad dribbling blood and tears onto the floor. Adora was going to have to do things the hard way.

“You know what I’m going to ask, don’t you?” said Adora.

Catra nodded and said nothing.

A moment of silence followed. Adora writhed. “Well?”

Catra very slowly shook her head.

Adora’s blank expression did not change. She had expected this. She knew Catra too well to expect she’d apologize and be a good kitty that easily. But she knew Catra would give in eventually. Adora just had to find the weak spot in Catra’s emotions and push as hard as she could. 

If she succeeded, she wouldn’t have to beat Catra, but it would still involve a lot of pain. It was going to be cruel. Less cruel than a belting, but still unforgivably cruel. _This isn’t torture._ Adora reassured herself. _This is just…tactics._

“What am I going to do with you, Catra?” said Adora.

Catra shrugged, which was a mistake. She whimpered as the bruises blanketing her back stirred into life. “How should I know?” she asked, wincing. “You’re the Force Captain-wannabe. Don’t you have some amazing plan to save us?”

“Yes.” Adora leaned forward, looking Catra straight in the eye. “You apologize to Shadow Weaver, then the squadron gets to eat, I take you to the infirmary to get eight hours of sleep and an icepack, and we can forget this ever happened.”

“W-Wow,” Catra spat. “That plan _sucks._ ” She paused for a moment, then cackled weakly, as if something only just occurred to her. “And you left out the best part, too.”

“What part?” said Adora. 

Catra burst out in a horrible noise that sounded like either laughter or soul-crushing sobbing. “ _This_ part. The part where Shadow Weaver makes you beat the shit out of me.”

Fear and frustration stole Adora’s voice for a moment, but she managed to compose herself. “I would never beat you, Catra.”

“Why not?” Catra gave yet another trembling, masochistic grin. “I deserve it, don’t I? I’m just a wild animal, right? And everyone else on the squad got a turn with the belt. Lonnie and Rogelio and even fucking Kyle. Don’t you feel left out?”

The two knelt in silence. The only sound was the hum of machinery in the walls.

Adora’s face was impassive. She knew Catra was trying to get a reaction out of her.

When Catra was punished, her instinct was to start mocking her punisher. Even if it just got her even deeper in trouble, making her tormentor roar with anger made Catra feel triumphant even as she was beaten to a weeping pulp. It meant she could exert one tiny bit of control over the monsters who controlled every aspect of her life. 

“Come on, Adora.” Catra let go of the bunk and braced against the floor on her hands and knees, submitting herself. Moving made every inch of skin from her head to her hips burst into flame, making her grimace. “You know you want a piece of this.” 

Adora remained silent. 

“There’s some spots on my legs that don’t have bruises yet.” Catra continued, mockingly. “And on my thighs. You should be able to reach them if you take my pants off.”

More silence. It seemed to fill the entire room.

“Or you could beat on my stomach a little. I’m starving too, so it’ll hurt even more.” Catra started to shiver with the agony of supporting herself with bruised muscles. “My tail hasn’t been stomped in a while, that’d probably hurt too. Hey, why don’t you punch me in the back of the head again? Maybe this time I won’t wake up!”

Catra glared up at Adora, looking for tears, or disgust, or anger, or _anything._ Instead, there was only deafening silence and a blank stare. Once Catra realized her unhinged taunting had been totally ineffective, her forced grin drained away. 

Then, to Catra’s surprise, Adora rose to her feet. She looked down on Catra for a moment before turning away without another word. She faced Shadow Weaver, stood to attention, and held out the belt. 

“I have failed.”

There was a dramatic change in the atmosphere of the dorm, as if Hordak had switched on one of his infamous oxygen-deprivation fields. Even Rogelio, Kyle, and Lonnie had stopped cowering and were now watching intently. 

“W-What?” stuttered Catra.

 _“What?”_ roared Shadow Weaver. 

“I said, I failed.” Adora continued. She drew upon the words she'd learned from Horde History. “I confess that my verbal negotiations have been ineffective, and that I lack the willpower to follow through with my threat of corporeal punishment. This mission is impossible.”

Shadow Weaver’s already terrifying eyes flared into nightmarish spectral lights. 

_“Adora.”_ she said, gritting her teeth behind her mask. _“It is not for a cadet to tell an officer what is or is not possible.”_

“You are correct, ma’am.” Adora took a deep breath, and prepared to commit suicide. “In that case, I will have to disobey your order.”

The whole dorm sat in silence. Shadow Weaver loomed over Adora like a dark red spire; her cold white eyes boring into the cadet’s skull.

_“You, Adora, are threatening to disobey me?”_

“Yes, ma’am.”

_“In front of your entire squadron?”_

“Yes, ma’am.”

Shadow Weaver glowered. _“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t flog the skin off your back this very instant.”_

Cold fear rose in Adora’s stomach, but she kept it locked away. “There is no reason, ma’am. If that is my punishment, then I accept it.”

It took Shadow Weaver a few moments before she spoke again. _“Adora, I am giving you one chance. Turn around and complete your mission.”_

Adora persisted. “I can’t.”

 _“You can’t, or you won’t?”_ snarled Shadow Weaver, her unnatural eyes flashing.

Adora steeled herself and, for the first time in years, was honest about her feelings. “I won’t hurt Catra.”

Shadow Weaver stood very still, paralyzed by a combination of pure anger and genuine shock at her prize pupil’s audacity. Even her shadowy tendrils seemed to stop writhing. She tore her gaze away from Adora and glared at Catra, who lay in a bruised heap a few steps behind. Shadow Weaver said nothing, but the way she narrowed her eyes conveyed a single accusation to the trembling magicat: You. You did this. 

_“Very well, Adora.”_ said Shadow Weaver, in a calm tone that was a hundred times more disturbing than if she’d been angry. Her gaunt hand reached out and beckoned Adora forwards. _“Come here.”_

As Catra watched Adora take her first steps towards the darkness, the snarky facade she'd kept up almost throughout the entire horrible night finally gave out and collapsed like a flooded dam. 

“No!” she cried, “Adora, wait!”

Catra tried to move towards Adora, but her arms gave way like they had no bones left in them. Catra gave a pitiful yelp as she collapsed onto the iron flooring of the barracks, the impact sending new waves of pain ripping through her red-raw back.

“Adora…” Catra reached forward and clutched at Adora’s ankle, fresh tears welling up in the corners of her wide, two-toned eyes. “Please…don't…” 

Adora’s tactical instincts flashed into action. This was it. She’d found Catra’s weak spot. Time to start pushing.

“What do you want, Catra?” asked Adora, calmly.

Catra opened her mouth to speak, but faltered. She wanted so many things she didn’t know where to begin. She wanted her back to stop hurting, her stomach to stop growling, and her mind to stop racing. She wanted Adora to love her even when Shadow Weaver was around. She wanted Shadow Weaver to touch her in a way that made her feel loved and not like the most miserable, cursed lifeform on Etheria. 

But in this moment, the only desire that escaped Catra's trembling lips was: “I don’t want her to hurt you too, Adora.” 

“Then apologize.” said Adora, remorselessly. 

“But I…” Catra shuddered. “I…can’t.”

Adora looked down impassively. “Why?”

“Because…” Catra gazed slowly and fearfully at Shadow Weaver. “…that…that…” She gave a hiccuping sob and when her voice returned it was very high-pitched and quiet. “That would make her _right._ "

Catra pressed her shaking hands to her face, as if she were trying to force all the unhappiness back into her brain. Tears trickled softly through the gaps in her fingers. As the sound of Catra sobbing filled the room, Adora fought hard to repress her own misery. Catra was so close to giving in. All Adora had to do was act cold for a bit longer and this would all be over...

“I know I’m not a good cadet,” cried Catra. “I know I cause trouble. But she can’t just… _hurt_ me like this. It can’t be right…it just…it can’t…”

Adora forced herself to disagree. “Catra, the Horde isn’t about right or wrong.” she said. “It’s about winning and losing.”

“That’s the point!” cried Catra. The effort of shouting scorched her throat. “I can’t lose again. I can’t. Just once, I want to _win._ ”

Adora knelt down so close that her breath warmed Catra’s ear, her voice almost a whisper. “This isn’t what winning looks like.”

Both cadets watched each other in silence. The machines in the walls continued to hum. It was the sound of the Horde itself, a giant engine churning relentlessly forwards without stopping, totally numb to the little drama unfolding within the barracks.

Adora was confused. Catra had apologized to Shadow Weaver before. Over the years of hard discipline, Catra had given every kind of apology imaginable. The curt on-the-spot sorry. The formal confession after a night in the cells. The desperate plea for forgiveness squeezed out of her by a claw of nerve-shredding magic. Catra had given them all. 

What was it about tonight that impelled Catra to rebel long past the point she normally gave in?

Adora knew this was a particularly horrifying punishment, even by Shadow Weaver’s standards. But that didn’t make any sense either. The Horde’s disciplinary philosophy was built on simple cause and effect. Punishment encouraged obedience. The more you were punished, the more obedient you became. 

But maybe the Horde was wrong. 

Maybe punishment didn’t make Catra a better cadet. Maybe it made her even worse. Maybe the harder Shadow Weaver pushed Catra, the more Catra pushed back. Maybe the only way to solve a problem like Catra was with love. 

Adora knew these kind of thoughts were traitorous, spineless, and had no business being in the mind of an aspiring Force Captain. But they stuck in her head regardless, making too much damn _sense_ to be ignored. 

Catra looked up at Adora. She was still impassive. Even a look of anger or fear would have been less upsetting.

"I can't." mumbled Catra, snuffling. "I just...can't do it."

"Neither can I." said Adora, quietly, curling her fist around the belt.

"No!" Catra could feel her heart pounding. She stammered as she tried to put her feelings into words, but she was a scrappy and sarcastic catgirl and did not have a mental vocabulary designed for times like this. "I _deserve_ to get hurt! You don't!"

Adora's reached down and caressed Catra's cheek. The tears felt boiling hot against her palm.

“That's the problem, Catra.” said Adora, softly. “I love you more than you love yourself.”

Catra could not think of any way to reply before Adora removed her hand, turned away and stepped towards Shadow Weaver. 

Adora stood to attention. "Ma'am, I -"

Suddenly, the belt flew from Adora's fist and twisted itself sinuously around her head. Adora’s hands reflexively clawed at her face as the leather stretched taut over her mouth, gagging her. 

Shadow Weaver stepped out from the corner, dragging darkness with her, and raised a thin finger to where her lips would have been behind her mask. Red lightning danced over her robes.

_“No more talking.”_


	6. The Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content Warning: physical abuse, emotional manipulation, implied bullying, blood]
> 
> You might want to brace yourself.
> 
> Chapter theme:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1QdSUBqhCOk

Adora didn’t want to be awake. 

She wanted to fall asleep, to slip into a coma, to die, to be anywhere else but right here, in the barracks, in the grip of an agony she never imagined could exist.

Then Shadow Weaver clenched her fist and Adora arched her back as the pain _spiked._

Adora thought she’d trained herself hard enough to withstand any kind of bodily pain the Horde could throw her way, but she was being proven very, very wrong. 

Years of sparring and battle sims had taught Adora how to roll with the punches but there was no way to roll with Shadow Weaver’s magic. All those countless hours spent learning to block and deflect attacks, it all amounted to nothing. The energy just passed right through Adora’s battle-hardened muscles and went straight into her twitching nerves. 

And it was…indescribable. 

Adora had yielded to the urge to scream long ago. Even with the belt cinched tight over her mouth, the dorm shook with the sound of her muffled, raw-throated howl. Cadets several dormitories away were woken up by the sound, though they soon drifted back to sleep. Far-off agonized screams, usually connected with Shadow Weaver in some way, were a common part of the Fright Zone's natural ambience.

Adora was ashamed of herself. She had imagined this kind of scenario so many times in her head: Force Captain Adora, captured by the fiendish princesses of Bright Moon, stoically enduring their torture with grimaces and taunts before she made her daring escape. 

But in reality, Adora had endured less than a few seconds of Shadow Weaver's wrath before she’d burst into uncontrollable sobbing. Adora hadn’t cried this hard since she was six years old. But then, six-year-old Adora had never had to face something as nightmarish as Shadow Weaver’s magic.

But six-year-old Catra had. 

The realization stung Adora even more than the pain. 

Adora hoped she’d get the chance to say sorry. If either of them survived.

It was like all the energy in the Fright Zone was pouring into her and her nervous system couldn’t process it all fast enough and she suddenly ended up feeling… _nothing._ The nothing rushed out of her head. Trickled down her spine. Settled in the tips of her fingers and toes. 

Adora felt herself falling, backwards, into her own mind, where she…

_…feels herself carried, like a baby…unfamiliar faces…they smile at her, and she feels safe…the sky is filled with millions of tiny sparkles…then, a flash of energy…the sensation of falling through a tunnel of light…iron gauntlets grasping her…the metal clasps tight around her tiny ribs, making her wail…then she passes into the arms of a shadow…her wailing stops…the shadow is soft…and warm…it whispers to her…_

Adora jolted awake, sucking in precious air through her nose. She couldn’t breathe. She was screaming out air faster than she could breathe it in. She was going to suffocate.

She begged Shadow Weaver to stop, but the words were trapped inside her gagged mouth. Weaver’s fist re-clenched, and Adora…

_…sees herself alone in the exercise chambers…fists blurring into holographic targets…falling to her knees, shaking with joy…another personal record broken…one of the shadows on the wall detaches and walks towards her…Shadow Weaver…holding an ice pack and a ration bar…numbing cold on her knuckles…filling grey softness in her stomach…Weaver’s haunting white eyes winking at her... “Just our little secret, Cadet Adora…”_

When Adora awoke again, she was deaf to everything but the thudding of her own panicking heartbeat and blinded by the salt of her own tears. Adora could feel someone standing on the edges of the room. It was Catra. 

Adora reached out to her, more out of despair than hope of rescue, before the magic grabbed her again so fiercely that her jaw seized shut with a spine-chilling crack. Adora could taste blood in her mouth as she faded out, and…

_… she sees Catra sat on the edge of the bunk…younger and pudgier and so short her tiny little feet don’t reach the floor…refusing to talk…refusing to explain why she is crying…Adora sees her younger self hugging Catra from behind…pulling her into the soft blue blanket…blowing a raspberry into the fresh, warm fur on her belly… Catra laughing…hugging her back…sadness forgotten…_

Adora could hear something above her. A voice. Catra’s voice. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

The pain ended with the same suddenness as it had begun. Adora flopped to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Shadow Weaver slowly turned towards Catra, her hand frozen in the act of summoning fresh pain into Adora’s nerve-endings, and stared.

Catra’s ears were pinned flat against her head. Yet even with everything she’d endured, Catra had managed to put her shattered emotions back together again. She had stood up to her full height and looked Shadow Weaver right in the eye. 

“I’m…sorry.”

Shadow Weaver glared at Catra, swaying slightly. The sorceress seemed to have completely exhausted herself from the effort of punishing Adora. Her oil-black hair was no longer writhing with a life of its own, but hung around her body like a cloak. Heavy, monstrous breathing emanated from her expressionless mask. 

_“What are you sorry for?”_ asked Shadow Weaver, simmering with anger. 

Catra faltered. “Please don’t hurt her anymo-”

 _“What. Are. You. Sorry. For?”_ Shadow Weaver’s voice grew louder, and her breath grew lighter, as if she was drawing energy from Catra’s fear.

“I’m sorry for…fighting,” said Catra, eventually. Her voice was as thin and trembling her body. “And scratching Adora. I’m sorry for hissing at you. And spitting at you. And disobeying you, and starving my squadron, and acting like a disgusting animal, and never doing anything right and…” Catra had to force the words out. “…m-making you hurt Adora…”

Shadow Weaver said nothing, but she stepped closer. Catra shrank back until she was flat against the wall, wincing as the pressure reawakened her bruises. Catra tried to cling on to some kind of dignity, but that was difficult when she only came up to Shadow Weaver’s chest. She had no choice but to be looked down on. 

Catra felt fresh tears well up in her eyes, but she did not break, even when Shadow Weaver took one of her ears between black-nailed fingertips and _squeezed._ Not enough to agonize or draw blood, but just tightly enough to make Catra’s skin crawl. Then, Shadow Weaver leaned in so close that her inky black tresses stroked against the tufts of Catra's ears, and whispered: 

_“I forgive you.”_

She paused long enough to see relief spread across Catra’s trembling face, before delivering a verbal blow more painful than any belt-buckle or binding-spell.

_“But will Adora forgive you?”_

“W-What?” mumbled Catra, her face creased with fear and confusion in equal measure. 

_“You know what I mean, Catra.”_ said Shadow Weaver. _“Look.”_

She ever-so-gently guided Catra by her ears, forcing her to look at the twitching blonde cadet sprawled on the floor of the dormitory.

_“Look at what you’ve done to her.”_

Catra looked at Adora. At least, what was left of Adora. Almost nothing remained of the well-groomed, assertive cadet who’d marched willingly into Shadow Weaver’s punishing arms. Catra saw Adora return her gaze with baby blue eyes swimming with tears. Catra's heart throbbed with sympathy. She knew the pain of binding-magic. She knew how it stole your breath and hurt parts of your body you didn't even know you had. She couldn't think of anyone who deserved to it less than Adora.

 _“She’s crying,”_ continued Shadow Weaver, mercilessly. _“Because of you.”_

Words of denial rose in Catra’s head, but they passed through a razor-sharp layer of self-hatred and left her lips as a small, mangled: “Yes.” 

_“You cut her face. You let her starve for six days.”_

“Yes,” repeated Catra.

_“She had a chance to punish you, to hurt you back, and she refused.”_

“Yes.”

_“She tried to help you. Even though you hurt her.”_

Catra wanted to protest, but once again her claims of innocence were washed back down her throat by stomach-burning guilt.

“Y-Yes…” she croaked. 

_“Even though she knew I would hurt her even more.”_

Suddenly, Catra found she didn’t have the strength to speak.

_“You had the power to make me stop. One little apology, and that would have ended it. You could have stopped me before I touched a single hair on her head.”_

Catra could feel herself breaking. 

_“But you did nothing. Nothing. You let Adora suffer. She's the only one in the world who loves you, Catra, and you made her cry.”_

Catra broke. It was just one sniffle at first, little more than a sad hiccup, but it was first pebble of an emotional landslide. Soon, Catra’s face contorted with ugly, wracking sobs until tears ran from her wide, gold-blue eyes and mucus dribbled out of her freckled nose.

 _“Oh, hush,”_ crooned Shadow Weaver. Her hand brushed back Catra’s damp hair from her face, then clutched her trembling chin and tipped her head up. The threat of eye contact made Catra squeeze her eyes shut and cry even harder. _“Hush, little kitten, hush...”_

Shadow Weaver let go. Catra slumped to the floor. She folded up as if she’d been kicked in the stomach, drew her legs into her chest and wrapped her tail around herself. Shadow Weaver studied the curled-up magicat with a look of satisfaction before turning away. Even as one of the most powerful sorceresses on Etheria, Shadow Weaver was amazed how much she could achieve with words alone. 

Adora just…watched.

In some twisted way, she felt relief. Shadow Weaver had gotten her precious apology, and six days worth of worry and tension over Catra had relaxed at last. But Adora's relief drained away at the sight of Catra in despair.

She had to save her. She had drag Catra back from the edge and into a warm hug and whisper how all those horrible things Shadow Weaver said weren't true at all.

But she couldn't. No matter how loudly Adora's mind screamed at her to get up and take Catra into her arms, her body wouldn’t respond. Her limbs felt as heavy as lead. She could do nothing but whimper as Weaver grasped her sweat-slick hair, hefted her up, and propped her against the nearest bunk. 

Shadow Weaver knelt down beside Adora, her maroon robes spreading on the floor, glaring into her eyes as if trying to see into her very skull. 

Then, she snapped her fingers. 

The belt came loose from around Adora’s mouth. It flopped to the ground like a dead serpent, trailing strings of blood and drool. Adora sucked in oxygen with huge, shuddering gasps as she was finally allowed to douse the fire in her lungs. Shadow Weaver watched her golden cadet struggle for breath with disdain.

 _“Well?”_ said Shadow Weaver, reproachfully. _“Do you have anything to say?”_

Adora tried to speak, but the words were drowned in her throat. The inside of her mouth felt like it was filled with raw, bloody meat. 

Shadow Weaver gave a deep sigh. She reached down, grabbed Adora’s chin, and turned her head from side to side as if inspecting a piece of property. _“You’ll be fine,”_ she huffed. _“You’ve just bitten your tongue, that’s all.”_

Adora choked. The spot where her teeth had clenched over her soft tongue was oozing agony. She wasn't going to be fine for a long time...

 _“Catra has repented at last. I am sure you will be pleased to hear.”_ Shadow Weaver’s voice hardened. _“But this isn’t her punishment anymore, Adora..."_

Adora nodded sadly. She knew. It was _hers._

She didn’t know what to do. She was in uncharted territory. Shadow Weaver had never hurt her like this before, nor had Adora been so openly disobedient. There had been slaps and scolding and threats of being shipped off to Beast Island as far back as Adora could remember, but nothing like this. 

Whatever favoritism had shielded Adora from Shadow Weaver’s cruelty for all these years had been indefinitely suspended. For the first time in her life, Adora had known Shadow Weaver as other cadets had known her. Not as a strict tutor or the closest thing you could ever have to a mother in the Fright Zone, but as Hordak’s ruthless second-in-command.

 _“Once I’ve healed your tongue,”_ began Shadow Weaver, gesturing at Adora’s mouth. _“We are going straight to the Black Garnet Chamber. There are many questions you must answer, Adora, and if you have any sense you will answer honestly, or I will -”_

Shadow Weaver stopped abruptly, staring at her fingers. They were shivering. Instead of red light beaming from her fingertips, a tiny red spark flickered pathetically and died. 

_“Well, now,”_ said Shadow Weaver, dryly. _“You’ve depleted me, Adora. I haven’t one spark of magic left to spare."_ Shadow Weaver rose up from her knees, towering over Adora like a spire. _"Don't think this means we're finished. I’ll just have to leave you bleeding for now…”_

A gurgled whimper escaped Adora’s lips as she swallowed down another mouthful of her own blood. 

_“Squadron! Stand to attention!”_ snapped Shadow Weaver. 

The Horde Squad did as they were told. Eventually. Lonnie was first on her feet, followed by Rogelio, who heaved Kyle up by the scruff of his neck. 

They had taken shelter under the nearest bunk the moment Shadow Weaver had unleashed her magic. Only Lonnie had dared to watch. She regretted doing so. 

_“I require a volunteer.”_ announced Shadow Weaver, imperiously. 

Shadow Weaver’s stare ran from face to face, looking for a reaction. Kyle and Rogelio returned the sorceress' chilling gaze with frightened stares, before they both glanced tentatively at Lonnie. 

Lonnie swallowed the anxious lump in her throat. She had expected this would happen. Or rather, _feared_ this would happen. When the only alternatives were two mutilated girlfriends, a mute lizard, and a boy who looked like he was about to have a heart attack, Lonnie was the Horde Squad’s best bet at pursuing any kind of dialogue with Shadow Weaver. It was not something to be proud of. 

“I volunteer, ma’am,” said Lonnie, stepping forward. 

Shadow Weaver surveyed Lonnie with cold disinterest, then spoke:

_“See that Adora is delivered to the Black Garnet Chamber by this evening, cadet. I don't care if you have to carry her."_

Lonnie turned towards Adora. She took no more than a few steps before Shadow Weaver’s hand clamped over her dreadlocks like a giant, pale spider. Lonnie felt the spot on her cheek that Shadow Weaver had struck before tingle with recollected pain.

_“I hope you're not intending to take her to the infirmary, Cadet Lonnie.”_

“Not anymore, ma'am.” said Lonnie, forcing herself to stay calm. The fresh memory of Adora writhing in agony was eating through her resolve like molten steel through paper.

 _“Good. After all, the infirmary is for loyal Horde soldiers, not disobedient brats.”_ Shadow Weaver's fingers drummed on Lonnie's scalp, making her shiver. _“A trip to the showers should be enough for these two.”_

Lonnie groaned internally. She couldn’t think of a worse place for two battered cadets than the Fright Zone showers.

Not only did Adora's wounds demand a whole lot more than a blast of freezing water, but it was almost morning. The showers would soon be filling up with rival squads who’d be more than happy to mock smaller cadets nursing the bloody symptoms of Shadow Weaver’s discipline. And if Lonnie had learned anything in the Horde, it was that mockery was just a gentle prelude to other, more "hands on" forms of bullying. 

Fresh anger brewed in her mind, but Lonnie kept it bottled up. She knew it would be utterly futile, if not suicidal, to start arguing with Shadow Weaver now. 

“As you command, the squad obeys, ma’am.” said Lonnie. 

_"Very well,"_ said Shadow Weaver, as she began to disappear into the dark hallway outside the dormitory. _"See to it."_

Lonnie panicked at the sight of Shadow Weaver's departure. At any other time she would have been glad to see Shadow Weaver leave. But a surging, blinding flood of hunger compelled her to speak out of line. 

“Wait!” cried Lonnie, her voice louder than she intended. 

There was a tense silence. Shadow Weaver did not turn around. Lonnie's fear made her hesitate, but the pain of a hollow stomach urged her onward.

“Catra apologized, didn’t she, ma’am?” said Lonnie, desperately. "D-Didn't she?"

There was another tense silence. Lonnie’s stomach growled, anxious for Shadow Weaver to announce that they would be removed from the rations blacklist, as she had promised. But as the sorceress just stood rigidly still, Lonnie feared for the worst.

“Yes.” said Shadow Weaver. Then she melted into the darkness without another word.


	7. The Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content warning: implied abuse, suicide, blood]
> 
> This chapter is a little more comfort and a little less hurt. It is also the chapter with the most blood in it. Seriously, if blood ain't your thing, you might want to sit this one out. 
> 
> Chapter theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQZfGa5t4e8

After Shadow Weaver left the barracks, none of the cadets had the courage to move. 

There was just darkness in the hall outside the dorm. The kind of darkness that could only exist in the bunkers of the Fright Zone, where the light of Etheria’s moons never shone. 

The cadets feared Shadow Weaver would come looming back out of the dark at any second. So, they just stood to attention in rigid silence. They might have stood there all day if Catra hadn’t scared them back to reality by suddenly slamming her claws onto the floor. 

Adora watched through half-conscious eyes as Catra clawed her way to the middle of the room and knelt over her, like a mourner. 

Fear gripped Adora at the sight of Catra’s expression. There were so many emotions etched into her tear-streaked face. Sadness. Pain. Fear. But worst of all, _guilt._

Adora tried to say something comforting, something like: _Don’t cry, Catra. It’s not your fault._ But instead of words, hot, coppery blood trickled out of her mouth. Adora was suddenly reminded how badly she’d bitten her own tongue. 

Catra’s claws clasped around her trembling lips in shock. 

Adora’s eyes widened. She moved to speak again, _Please don’t cry no it’s okay Catra please it’s not your fault it’s not your fault it’s not your fault,_ but this only made her choke, sending fresh runnels of blood trickling down her chin. 

It was too much for Catra. She stood up, trembling, and fled the room. 

Adora’s sympathy turned to panic. A wave of despair was cresting over her mind, threatening to crash down and wash away what little hope she had left. 

She tried to get up, but a jolt of agony dragged her back down. It felt like her body had been bound head to toe with barbed wire. Every little movement was met with sharp, agonizing resistance.

Her ruined mouth oozed scarlet as she tried to call for Catra. 

_Catra! Come back! COME BACK!_

Adora lay there, unable to move, unable to talk, unable to do anything but watch Catra stagger into the dark. 

In that moment, the wave of despair broke over Adora’s head, crashing over her with such force that she lost her grip on the world. Everything inside and outside her body became a muffled blur except for, regrettably, the pain. That was still loud and clear.

The heartbeat pulsing in the bloody mess of her tongue. The nerve-endings shattered like burnt-out lightbulbs by the passage of Shadow Weaver’s binding magic. They were the only things she could feel under the dark waters of despair that had flooded her mind. 

She wanted to scream. But screaming required strength, and Adora had none left, so she just floated there in cold, empty resignation. 

Adora wished, childishly, that this had all been a nightmare. She waited for the moment she’d snap awake in her bunk with Catra purring into her chest and nothing on her mind than what kind of ration bar they’d get today. 

But the moment never came. This was reality. 

She was struggling to realize what Shadow Weaver had done to her. 

Yes, Adora had intended to be punished. She’d planned for it as a tactical consideration. She’d all but straight up asked for it, challenging Shadow Weaver like that. But Adora thought she’d just get a few strokes of the belt before Catra had given in. Instead, she’d been… 

Adora stopped. She really didn’t want to say she’d been tortured, not even to herself. 

Torture was something Shadow Weaver did to her enemies, and Adora wanted Shadow Weaver to see her as a loyal soldier. Despite everything she'd seen, Adora clung to the hope that Weaver was only hurting the squadron because it made them stronger. She wasn't trying to destroy them. She was teaching them discipline.

 _It was just discipline._ Adora told herself. _Just discipline._ She repeated to herself as she lay there, crippled by shock, as if just repeating it made it true. _Just discipline…_

Adora’s face screwed up. She could feel tears swelling in the corners of her weary blue-grey eyes when, suddenly, a voice called to her somewhere above the dark depths. 

“Keep still, you idiot!”

Adora flinched. She turned her head, with great difficulty, and discovered she wasn’t alone. The lingering pain of Weaver’s binding-magic had turned the barracks into a watery blur, but two blurs looked familiar…

“I-Is she going to die?” squeaked one of the blurs. 

Okay, that one was definitely Kyle. 

“Kyle, if you don’t shut up, _you_ are gonna die.”

And there was Lonnie, without a doubt. 

Adora slowly bought her squad-mates into focus. Lonnie was knelt down by her side, holding her head up and using a wet rag to swab the blood trickling from her mouth. Kyle knelt behind her, carrying a bowl of water, looking even more deeply uncomfortable with his life than usual. 

Lonnie had tried to turn the dorm into some kind of makeshift infirmary, with Kyle acting as an honorary nurse. All they had to work with was a couple of rags and a bowl of freezing cold water, but with the infirmary off limits by order of Shadow Weaver, it was the closest thing to medical attention Adora was going to get.

A whimper of gratitude escaped Adora’s lips as Lonnie glided the cold fabric over fresh and drying blood on her face. It wasn’t a painkiller or an icepack, but it was dredging her mind up from the depths. 

Adora tried to look around. Apart from the bulky silhouette of Rogelio stood guard in the door, the dorm was empty. No Shadow Weaver lurking in the corners. No Catra curled up in a ball of misery. They were both gone. 

She tried to ask Lonnie where Catra was, but all that came out was a pitiful gurgle. 

“What did I just say about keeping still?” snapped Lonnie, narrowing her eyes. 

Adora tried to clear her throat by forcing down another mouthful of blood and spit. Big mistake. Her stomach did a backflip, and suddenly all the blood that had trickled down her throat was returning with a vengeance. Adora felt herself start to gag. 

“Oh, for Horde’s sake…” said Lonnie, as she watched Adora’s convulsions. “Kyle, get your helmet.”

“W-What for?” stuttered Kyle.

Lonnie seized him by the collar and shouted: “Helmet! Now!”

Kyle shot a glance at Rogelio, who gave him a resigned just-do-it shrug. When Kyle scurried back carrying his gunmetal-grey Horde headgear, Lonnie had Adora braced against the wall and was holding her hair back.

“Good,” said Lonnie. She could feel Adora tremble in her hands. “Now turn it upside down.”

Kyle did as he was told. “Okay?”

“Put it under her chin.”

“Okay?”

“Now get ready.”

“Ready for what?” asked Kyle, eyes wide with terror. 

Adora threw her head forwards and gave him an answer. Kyle closed his eyes until the retching and groaning stopped. When he opened them again, his helmet was filled with dark red lumps. His first thought was that Adora had thrown up her own organs. 

“Oh, no!” cried Kyle. “She really is gonna die!”

“No, Kyle, you moron!” said Lonnie, trying to rise above the sound of Adora retching. “She’s just swallowed a lot of blood. She chomped her own tongue, remember?” She looked down and gave an exhausted laugh. “Bet it was nice to finally eat something, right Adora?”

Lonnie hoped her dark joke might lighten the mood, but Adora wasn’t listening. 

Adora was burning through the last reserves of energy that had survived Shadow Weaver’s magic in a desperate effort to speak. But as hard as Adora tried, her bitten tongue just turned the words ‘Where’s Catra?’ into blood-spluttering nonsense.

“Stop trying to talk, Adora,” said Lonnie. “I’m serious.” 

No. no, no, no. She had to talk. She’d been so close to getting Catra back, and now her bunkmate was alone and in pain. 

Adora tried to call out, but all she did was send even more scarlet blood dribbling into Kyle’s helmet. 

“Oh, just shut up!” cried Lonnie. She grabbed a fresh rag from Kyle, twisted it up, and stuffed it in Adora’s mouth. “Look, just keep this over your tongue and bite down on it and don’t stop until the bleeding stops. Okay?”

Adora groaned. The rag was comforting and kept her from swallowing blood, but it wasn’t just the blood making her sick. It was her own humiliating weakness.

How was she going to save Catra like this? She couldn’t even save herself.

Lonnie looked Adora straight in the eye. No words were exchanged, but Lonnie read Adora’s expression like a book. She gave a heavy sigh. 

“Look, Adora. Catra is fine.” said Lonnie. She was trying to be nice, but there was no hiding the venom in her voice. Lonnie didn’t share Adora’s warm concern for Catra. “You need to worry about yourself for once, alright? Catra’s not being beaten any more. She’s fine.” 

Adora choked again. Lonnie didn’t understand. Catra was _not_ fine. Adora wasn't a psychologist, but she didn’t need to know what ‘PTSD’ stood for to understand that Catra’s pain didn’t end when her beating did. 

The Horde didn’t teach its soldiers anything about trauma except how to inflict it upon others. Everybody acted tough and carefree around each other, but there was not a single cadet amidst the mob of orphans and foundlings conscripted into Hordak’s war who wasn't grappling with some terrible memory. Even if they’d rather die than admit it. 

And some of them did. By their own hand. 

Into Adora’s mind burst the awful memory of thirteen-year-old Catra clawing red lines into her own forearm, huddled at the back of a vent where she thought Adora couldn’t find her.

But Adora did find her. She knew all of Catra's hiding spots. And when she tried to drag Catra's claws away from her own mortified limb, Catra struck out furiously. Shadow Weaver would have said she had acted like a cornered beast, but to Adora, Catra had been acting like a scared kid who'd been beaten one too many times.

That night had been the first time they’d fought, for real, outside of the battle sims. Amidst the flurry of claws and cries to be left alone, Adora grabbed Catra with a body-lock grapple, the one she’d gotten top marks for in Commander Cobalt’s class, and held her down until her arm was bandaged and her hissing screams dwindled into quiet sobs. 

Adora remembered being speechless. She'd had so many questions, but was so terrified of the answers Catra might give that she couldn't bring herself to say anything. Adora could recall with absolute clarity how Catra's tears felt hot against her shoulder and how she'd caressed her mane and whispered into her flattened, tufted ears in the hopes she'd stop crying and start purring. But she didn't, so Adora had just rocked Catra back and forth until the shaking stopped.

They both fell asleep in that vent that night, too afraid to let each other go. Then they crawled out and went to the morning battle sims without another word and never, ever spoke about it again.

But Adora thought about it. She couldn't stop thinking about it, even though she really, _really_ wanted to. On some blissful occasions she could go a whole day without remembering that night. But whenever Shadow Weaver pushed Catra too hard, Adora feared Catra would run away and hide again and this time Adora wouldn't be able to find her before she...

Adora felt tears returning to the edges of her tired, bloodshot eyes. She clenched them shut as she tried to stay composed. She did not succeed. 

Lonnie’s beady, offended stare softened at the sight of the strongest squad-mate reduced to tears. Then, to Lonnie's horror, she felt a desire to…comfort her. 

As a no-bullshit rules-are-rules cadet, comfort was a foreign concept to Lonnie. The only kind of ‘comfort’ Horde soldiers were trained to give was a shot of painkilling serum to the jugular to keep them fighting. Lonnie hadn’t even known what a loving touch even _looked_ like until she’d peeked at Adora and Catra in their bunk together. 

It went against all her instincts as a hard-boiled warrior of the Horde, but it was worth a try…

Lonnie reached up and stroked Adora’s hair as gently as she could. After a small flinch at the unexpected touch, Adora’s tense expression of anguish relaxed. She whimpered into the blood-soaked rag, causing Lonnie draw back her hand in surprise. 

“I’m sorry,” said Lonnie, awkwardly. “Do you want me to stop?”

Adora’s red-rimmed eyes turned up at Lonnie. She couldn’t say a word, but her forlorn expression alone said: _Please. Don’t stop._

She shut her eyes as Lonnie’s fingertips slowly traced the curves of her aching head, and sunk deep into her own helplessness. 

“Adora…” said Lonnie, quietly. “She really hurt you, didn’t she?”

The tender silence was broken by a long, loud grumble from Kyle’s stomach.

“Sorry,” said Kyle, fixing his eyes on the floor. 

Lonnie sighed, suppressing the urge to kick Kyle’s ass. 

On the very, very long list of things that Kyle could be blamed for, starving was not one of them.

They had been starving for the last six days, and it looked as though they would continue to starve today. The injustice drove Lonnie mad. The squadron had beaten down one of their own just to satisfy Shadow Weaver, and they had nothing to show for it. It would have been better if Shadow Weaver had never visited them at all. At least then Lonnie wouldn't have humiliated herself by crying in front of one of the most powerful women in the Horde. At least Adora wouldn't be paralytic and bleeding all over the barracks.

Lonnie pushed her anger deep down, but Kyle was not so stoic.

“I d-don’t understand,” said Kyle. He placed down his now-bloodied helmet with a grimace. “Did Shadow Weaver say we could eat or not?”

Lonnie sighed. “She didn’t say anything. She just left. Glided right out the door.”

“B-But Catra apologized!” stammered Kyle. “Weaver promised we could eat!”

“Oh, did she?” said Lonnie. Her voice was spiked with sarcasm. “Why don’t you go up to the Black Garnet Chamber and tell her that?”

Kyle swallowed. “I…I’d rather…not…”

“That’s what I thought.” said Lonnie, dropping to an angry whisper as she looked back at Adora’s pale, exhausted face. “If Weaver did this to her own precious pet, Horde knows what she’d do to you. Probably make Rogelio bite your throat out.”

Kyle shuddered as he warded off the horrible mental image. 

“That’s…” murmured Kyle, “That’s not funny…” 

“Who’s joking?” scoffed Lonnie. “You saw what happened tonight. Shadow Weaver’s invented a new kind of punishment just for cadets like you.”

Kyle blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Lonnie bit her lip angrily. She wasn't used to explaining herself to Kyle. In fact, this was probably the longest she'd ever _talked_ to Kyle without telling him to shut up. 

“Listen, Kyle – when you were younger, we could make you cry just like that.” Lonnie snapped her fingers. “If someone so much as sneezed too loud, you’d turn on the waterworks. You were an absolute wreck.”

Kyle watched Lonnie with concern. He was used to having cadets say horrible things about him, but something about the tone of Lonnie’s voice seemed more sad than sadistic. 

“But then, last night,” continued Lonnie. “I broke your nose, you stayed quiet. Shadow Weaver forced you to beat Catra, and you didn’t shed a tear. You actually managed to tough it out.” Lonnie gave a bitter chuckle. “But then you cried out when Weaver hit Rogelio. Why?”

“Well…” Kyle sheepishly avoided Lonnie's stare. He started to turn red. 

“I know you and that scaly bonehead have it bad for each other," said Lonnie. "Horde knows why, but you do. And so long as you do, Shadow Weaver has a way to...hurt you." Self-loathing flared in Lonnie's stomach as she swallowed the sob welling up in her throat. "Just look at what she did to Adora and Catra. If these two _dumbasses_ didn't love each other so much, she couldn't have hurt them like this..." 

Lonnie looked back at Kyle. He wasn't paying attention. His gaze was fixed on Adora's arm. Angry that he was ignoring her while she opened her heart to him, Lonnie prepared to re-break Kyle's nose. Then she too looked down at Adora's wrist, and her rage was replaced with fear.

"What is this?" she muttered, quietly. "Kyle, have you ever seen something like this before?"

Kyle very slowly shook his head.

On the callused white skin of Adora's wrist, dark red veins blazed like the tendrils of some unseen parasite.

Fearing the worst, Lonnie grabbed one of Adora's shirt sleeves and rolled it up. Kyle turned even paler than usual. Lonnie’s lips tightened. The red tendrils. Adora was _covered_ in them. 

Lonnie gazed at the tiny, sodden rag that was Adora's sole means of pain relief. It was not enough for something like this.

“Okay.” said Lonnie, with both dread and resignation. “I guess we’re hitting the fucking showers.”


	8. The Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content warning: blood, implied abuse, implied and actual bullying]
> 
> I am amazed that 1,800+ people have read this fic. It's my first work on this site and I never expected to get such thoughtful feedback. 
> 
> Chapter theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DEdB98MfWpg

Adora felt the floor drop away. She whimpered into the rag as she was slung over Rogelio’s broad green shoulders and carried. She heard his powerful feet slam over and over into the metal flooring as he sprinted to the shower rooms with Lonnie and Kyle following behind. 

Here and there, Adora could hear bad-tempered Horde cadets dragging themselves out of bed. She could hear heavy boots snapping to attention. She could hear stun-rods being recharged and re-calibrated. She could hear Humans and lizard-folk and beast-folk and rarer species all preparing themselves for another busy day of senseless violence. 

And Adora knew that, somewhere far behind the bustling soldiers, Shadow Weaver was basking in the energy of the Black Garnet, gathering her strength for their upcoming ‘discussion’, replacing the stocks of pain-giving magic she had emptied into Adora’s body…

Suddenly, the dark hallway become a bright open chamber filled with cold mist. Adora could hear the rush of water, whirring vents, and noisy laughter. 

They’d arrived at the showers. 

Like everything else in the Fright Zone, the shower rooms were designed to function with maximum efficiency and minimum comfort. A series of locker rooms which bore the graffiti from decades of cadets were connected by a huge, grey-tiled communal chamber lined with nozzles and vents. 

Adora felt herself placed on the ground. She caught a brief glimpse of a busy locker room before her view was eclipsed by her own squadron in various stages of undress. 

“Alright, Adora, here’s what’s gonna happen.” said Lonnie. “We go in, blast whatever that shadow stuff on your body is with water, and hope to Hordak it makes you better because if not then I am fresh out of ideas.” 

Lonnie glared at Adora’s snuffling nose and glistening, uncertain eyes before giving a resigned sigh. “ _Then_ we go find Catra.” she added. “Happy?”

Lonnie rolled her eyes as Adora visibly relaxed. It really pissed her off how, even with so many problems of her own, Adora still _insisted_ on worrying about Catra. 

Deep down, a small part of Lonnie was enjoying this. Her squadron was working together and finding little ways of undoing Shadow Weaver’s damage. The action kept Lonnie’s mind off the agonizing hunger and the feeling that no matter what she did to heal Adora, Shadow Weaver would probably undo all her hard work within seconds. 

“Rogelio?” Lonnie cuffed his enormous green shoulder to get his attention. “You’re coming with me. I need you in case we have to fight. You know how it can get in the showers.” 

Rogelio snarled affirmatively. 

“Kyle? Go down to the inventory and get new uniforms.” Lonnie sighed deeply. “Don’t forget, we’ve still got to attend battle sims after this. You’ll have to skip the shower.”

“Aww!” said Kyle, paused in the act of undressing. “But I’ll smell weird!”

“Kyle, you always smell weird. Nobody’s gonna notice.”

“But could you have told me that _before_ I threw my shirt down the laundry chute?”

Rogelio gave an awkward growl and handed his own shirt to Kyle, who sighed and tried it on. It was about three times Kyle’s size and fell past his knees, but it was safer than running around the Fright Zone topless. The Horde Squad was in enough trouble already.

Lonnie and Rogelio watched Kyle run down the hall, then turned their attention to Adora. 

“Adora,” Lonnie began, scratching the back of her head. “I’m going to have to…” Lonnie put her hands to her chest and made a lifting up gesture. “…you know?”

Adora leaned her head back and sighed into the bloodstained rag. 

The cadets were used to seeing each other naked. After over a decade of communal showering, the Horde Squad had gotten all the awkwardness out of their system some time ago. Modesty was not a word in any Horde soldier’s vocabulary, and there was very little chance of anyone feeling romantic in a giant gutter filled with dried blood. 

Even so, there was a big difference between seeing and touching. 

Adora really wished she had the strength to undress herself. Between her bawling at Shadow Weaver’s feet in the barracks and the bloody gag stopping her from choking on her own blood, this was yet another burning reminder of how _weak_ she had become. 

But what other choice did she have? Adora gave a consenting nod in Lonnie’s direction. 

“Okay, Rogelio, hold her arms up,” said Lonnie, as she hooked her thumbs under the waistband of Adora’s pants. “Let’s see the damage…”

Rogelio held Adora up like a ragdoll while Lonnie peeled off her Horde uniform piece by piece. Adora stared straight ahead, giving the occasional touch-starved shiver whenever Lonnie brushed against something sensitive. They were both trying very hard to be gentle, but Rogelio had claws and Lonnie’s weightlifting had turned her palms to sandpaper. 

When they were finished, Adora looked down at herself. She could not stop the involuntary twinge of fear.

There were no contusions and cuts on her skin, just…patterns. Long, crawling patterns that branched out across her milky hide as if her veins had been filled with molten lead or the tendrils of Shadow Weaver herself had reached out to clutch every inch of her body.

Adora was afraid, but not surprised. She had seen these patterns before. 

Not on her skin, but on Catra’s. 

On the nights when Catra came back from the cells shaken and punished and in need of hugging, she rarely spoke about how she’d gotten her injuries. But her skin told Adora the whole story. A red weal said “hand” and a string of bruises said “belt”, but an unnatural-looking patch of dark tendrils said: “Black Garnet”. 

Catra never talked about Weaver’s punishments any more than she wanted to, and Adora never pressed her. But even if Catra had described to Adora how it felt to be in the grasp of that horrible runestone, she wouldn’t have understood. Not until she'd felt it for herself.

The Black Garnet didn’t just hurt. It went inside your nerves without asking and helped itself to everything it could touch. And everything it touched, it left stained and corrupted. 

Adora's mind raced. Was that what happened to Shadow Weaver? Was there a time when she was normal? Did she walk and talk and smile before the Garnet turned her into, well, a shadow?

Adora twitched. Would the same thing happen to her? Adora imagined the tendrils expanding across her entire body, merging together and erasing every inch of life and color until she was nothing more than a silhouette, a pair of baby-blue eyes glaring hatefully from behind a mask, every bit the heartless killer Weaver wanted her to be… 

Adora was so deep in her own awful thoughts that she barely noticed when she started to cry again, but Lonnie did. She reached forward and clamped a hand over Adora’s mouth. 

“No!” hissed Lonnie. Her eyes were wide open with fear. “Not here! Not now! Not in front of the other squads!” Lonnie stared at Adora in silence for a few moments to let her words sink in. “You cry on your own like everyone else. Got it?”

Adora nodded and blinked away the stinging tears, then Lonnie and Rogelio frogmarched her into the mist of the shower room. The freezing air raised bumps on her bare skin, and the sound of cadets roaring with laughter at unheard jokes filled her ears. 

The morning scrub-down was in full swing, and there were almost a hundred cadets clustered around the shower heads. Younger cadets from rival squadrons leaned arrogantly against the walls in boisterous gangs. Older cadets loomed through the mist in the back of the room, backs turned, rinsing their scars in lonely, bitter silence. 

The noise dipped low as Lonnie, Rogelio, and Adora splashed through the room and took a corner of for themselves. It was impossible not to be noticed. 

Adora’s magic-burned skin glowed through the dark grey mist like a beacon, drawing whispers from the surrounding cadets. Horde soldiers were used to black eyes and bloody noses, but magical wounds were a rare sight. They stared at Adora as if she were some kind of exotic creature from the Whispering Woods.

Adora swallowed nervously. She about to get very popular, and not in a good way. 

It was a relief when Lonnie propped her up against the wall behind Rogelio, who squared up as a scaly green shield against them and the rest of the cadets. 

Lonnie hauled on a nearby lever. The pipes made a metallic groan and the shower dropped a torrent of icy water onto the shaking blonde cadet below. Eyes bulging with shock, Adora gave a cry that the rag in her mouth only partially muffled.

Lonnie shushed her, then glanced over her shoulder, as if expecting to be attacked at any moment. The other cadets were muttering and smirking but, thankfully, they were keeping their distance. For now. 

Taking a shower in the Fright Zone was a calculated risk. At best, Lonnie considered the Fright Zone shower room a dank and uncomfortable hole in the ground. At worst, she considered it a torture chamber. And this was coming from a girl who’d grown up within walking distance of an _actual_ torture chamber. 

At least with battle sims, the commander would drag you out before the bots turned you into a bloody smear on the floor of the simulator, and training duels were supposed to end once your opponent hit the ground, although Lonnie remembered that most cadets made sure to get a spiteful low blow before the round was over. 

But the worst fights were always in the shower room. The Horde Squad owed their week-long starvation to a fight between Catra and a group of cadets that had begun in the showers and ended with Adora getting a claw to the face. Lonnie hadn’t seen what had started the fight, though she suspected it had something to do with Catra and her sass-mouth. But it didn’t really matter. Cadets didn’t really need a reason to beat the spit out of each other. Fighting was just what you _did_ in the Horde.

You weren’t supposed to hurt each other outside of training, but it was hard to tell where the training ended and ‘normal life’, if such a thing could exist in the Fright Zone, began. 

While Lonnie and Rogelio kept watch, Adora felt the sterile, icy water drum against her. She lowered her head under the shower and gave a muffled sigh as the water doused her fiery headache. She tried to focus on little sounds. Her heartbeat, the streaming water from the nozzle above, and fog rushing through the vent in the ceiling. Once her mind was at peace, she could focus on her body.

The cold had shocked her, but it was a good kind of shock. It was like an alarm bell jolting her awake from a nightmare. The water was washing away the pain, sending it trickling down into the gutter along with the blood and the sweat. The screaming agony in her muscles was being hushed to an angry whisper.

Adora never thought she’d actually _enjoy_ one of the Fright Zone’s infamous cold showers. 

Before Adora was old enough to visit the shower rooms, she was hosed down together with the rest of the Horde’s resident orphans in terrified huddles by Octavia, Cobalt, or whatever officer had the indignity of being assigned “brat duty”. 

As bad as it had been for her, it had been worse for Catra. Adora had cried, but Catra had howled like she was being set on fire. She didn’t like having her tail accidentally brushed against a puddle, much less having her entire body pinned to the wall a high-pressure hose. When it was over, she would curl up in a soggy, mewling heap until the Octavia threw a towel in her direction. 

One time, Octavia forgot the towel. Catra had wandered in dripping wet misery, seeking any escape from the merciless cold. She eventually found one inside a pile of freshly laundered Horde uniforms. Adora may have been happy to see Catra warm and dry, but the cadets who found their uniforms soggy and covered in magicat-fur were decidedly not. 

Adora remembered giggling at the sight of the Octavia struggling to pull Catra out of her laundry-nest. She giggled because she had been a dumb, innocent hordeling, not even old enough to be a cadet, who didn’t expect for a moment that Octavia would hit Catra.

But that’s exactly what she did. And she cut her webbed knuckles against Catra’s baby fangs, which meant Catra was also carried away to Shadow Weaver to face the punishment for ‘biting’ an officer. Catra spent the next few days gasping with pain every time she sat down.

Adora recalled the crossfire of emotions she had felt at the time. She hadn’t been just sad and scared. She witnessed the brutality with the same shattering confusion with which one might look at towel making someone colder, or a shower making someone dirtier. 

The officers were supposed to look after Catra. Shadow Weaver was supposed to look after Catra. So why did they _hurt_ her so much? You couldn't look after someone by making them cry. It didn't make any sense.

Adora expected the memory to make her cry again. But instead of sobs, warm fury kindled in her chest. She noticed she was clenching her fist. 

The agony of Shadow Weaver’s punishment was wearing off. The paralysis in her muscles was being slowly but surely being replaced by stiff numbness. She felt like she might be able to walk soon. 

But not soon enough. Some of the rival cadets had stopped leaning on the walls and were strolling over to their corner. The head of the gang was tall enough to simply stand on tiptoes and peek at Adora over the top of Lonnie's head. Adora started blearily at the gang-leader's unwholesome smile.

“Is that…Adora?” she said, smiling broadly. “You look like _shit_! What in Horde's name happened to you?”

Lonnie looked up at the speaker. She was a muscular girl with bangs that covered her eyes, at least a head taller than Lonnie. It wasn’t her size that was concerning, but the way her teeth were clamped together in a deeply unfriendly-looking grin. 

You didn’t survive in the Fright Zone without understand the vast number of meanings conveyed by a cadet’s grin. It could mean everything from “good morning” to “me and my fellow cadets have decided to beat you until your legs don’t work”. This particular grin looked like one of the latter. 

“Hey!” The girl snapped her finger in Lonnie’s face. “Outta the way, dreadlocks.”

Lonnie’s mind raced. She didn’t know how to respond. Cadets were taught a thousand ways to _start_ fights and _win_ fights, but stopping fights from happening in the first place was a mystery that nobody could wrap their heads around. But she had to say something… 

Threats? No. Not with seven days of starvation and a wounded squad-mate behind her. 

Sassy backtalk? No. Look at how well that turned out for Catra. One snappy comeback to this girl, and Lonnie would be searching the Fright Zone’s gutters for her own teeth. 

Tell a joke? No. Horde cadets had a pretty brutal sense of humor. They expected punchlines with actual punches. 

Beg for mercy? No. Lonnie couldn’t imagine these cadets responding to pleas with anything other than peals of laughter. 

The only option left was to lie.

“Adora can’t talk right now,” said Lonnie, with a straight face. “She got...hit by a skiff.”

There was a wave of snickering from the surrounding cadets. The leader’s grin widened as Lonnie sighed. That lie hadn’t convinced anyone, not even herself. 

“Really? Because, you know, we heard a lot of noise coming from your dorm last night.” The leader nodded to her squad-mates. “Sounded like somebody screaming. Gave us all an early wake-up. We just wanted to make sure you guys were okay, that’s all…”

Lonnie shot a glance at Adora, her pale, shivering body crawling with shadowy tendrils. Some of the other cadets were trying to sneak closer to her. Rogelio sidestepped to block them, but he couldn’t be everywhere at once. Lonnie felt an anxious lump swell in her throat. 

“No-one was screaming,” said Lonnie. “That was probably just the…pipes.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t just screaming, was it?” said the leader, brightly. “Some of it kind of sounded to me like that stupid cat-thing. You know. The one that got stomped in here last week.”

Lonnie held the rival cadet’s gaze. "You mean Catra?" she said, eventually.

“Yeah, that's the bitch. It sounded like she was saying…” The rival cadet adopted a high-pitched whimpering tone. “ _’I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Oh, pwease don’t hurt Adora!’_ “

The rival squadron's laughter burned in Adora’s ears. 

“Yeah, I thought that at first too,” said Lonnie, forcing herself to appear casual. “But nope. Just the pipes. You guys must be hearing things.”

There were a few moments of tense silence. Neither the rival squad nor Lonnie took a single step back, but some of the cadets under the neighboring shower-heads were shuffling away. They knew a fight when they saw one, and they wanted to watch the brawl from a safe distance. 

It was no secret that Adora’s unbroken streak of training duel victories had earned her a lot of jealous enemies. Cadets didn’t take kindly to being knocked flat on their asses by a skinny girl who was half their size. Of course, they’d have never acted on their desire for revenge while Adora was fighting fit. Cadets were terrified of strength, but the sight of weakness was like blood in the water...

“You really aren’t going to get out of the way?” said the rival cadet. She slowly made a fist with her right hand and cracked her knuckles with her left.

“Pretty much.” said Lonnie, coldly. 

“Come on, dreads, don’t pretend you’re not annoyed by this blonde _princess_ ,” The rival cadet spat at the mention of the Horde’s ancestral enemies. “She needs to be taken down a peg. I understand if you don’t wanna watch. You and the lizard should just go and towel off, and we’ll deliver her to you later. I promise we won’t break anything too important.”

There was another wave of mean laughter. Fury radiated off Lonnie's face. She bunched her fists, squared up and addressed the surrounding bullies. 

"Listen to me," she began. “I don't want to fight, but the first person to touch Adora is gonna lose their-” 

Lonnie never even finished her sentence. A fist curled into her ear that made her slip on the wet tiles and stagger against the wall. She swung at the rival cadet’s stupid grin with what would have been a one-punch KO if she hadn’t been blinded by hunger and panic. So she missed, leaving herself open to another slug to the head that dropped her to the ground.

Her ears rang with mean laughter as she sprawled on the cold, slick tiles. Lonnie couldn't get up fast enough before more heavy thuds landed against her body. A barefoot kick flipped her onto her stomach, then someone grabbed a handful of dreadlocks and violently introduced her face to the bare floor.

Rogelio looked up and roared as the ring of rival cadets closed in around Lonnie. He prepared to leap forward, teeth bared.

"No!" shouted Lonnie. She glared up at Rogelio with the one side of her face that wasn't being pressed into the tiles. "Stay with Adora! I'll be fi-"

Another punch smacked the words out of Lonnie's mouth. 

A look of intense panic flashed across Rogelio's normally placid face before he took a few steps back into the corner, trying to shelter Adora with his own body. But Adora wasn't there. To Rogelio's amazement, she had struggled to her feet. Adora's legs carried her a few steps away from the corner before her joints unglued and she collapsed, shivering. Rogelio ran after her.

Lonnie snarled with pain as unseen knuckles and heels rained down on her unprotected body. She knew the other cadets were watching her and she knew nobody was going to drag her to safety, or call an officer, or do anything except watch the beat-down, because that was exactly what _she'd_ done countless times before. As the shower of concussive thuds continued, Lonnie felt a weak, bitter epiphany. _Oh. So this is how Catra felt._

Suddenly, a vent grate descended from the shadowy ceiling and slammed onto the wet tiles with a loud splash. The rival squadron paused mid-pummeling to stare at it, their bloodlust momentarily overridden by sheer confusion. 

The rival squad leader, still gripping Lonnie by her hair, gazed up and just had time to mutter "What the fu-" before Catra dropped from the vent and landed claws-first onto her face.


	9. The Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content warning: blood, bullying, implied and actual physical abuse, drug taking]
> 
> Only in the Fright Zone can you leave a shower feeling dirtier than when you went in.

When Catra landed on the rival squad-leader, she collapsed as if Catra weighed a ton. 

She didn’t, of course. Magicats were naturally petite, and a measly Horde diet had left had left Catra perpetually underweight. But she always landed on her feet, and those feet had claws, and those claws _hurt._

The rival cadet gave a muffled scream as Catra perched gracefully on top of her naked shoulders, claws lodged into the sides of her head. 

“Ew…” said Catra, looking down with an evil smirk. “I landed in some garbage.”

“Get off, get off!” roared the rival cadet, thrashing. “Get off of me, you dirty animal!”

“Oh, yeah? You think I’m an animal?”

Catra stretched her claws out. The rival cadet froze with terror as they felt themselves bleeding from about ten different places, then shivered as they felt Catra whisper into their ear.

“Look, I haven’t eaten in a week.” Catra slid her barbed kitty-tongue over her lips. “An animal who hasn’t eaten in a week would probably bite your throat out. So, do you think I’m still an animal?”

There was no response apart from a quiet whimper. 

Catra climbed off the cadet’s back. The girl roared in pain as talons ripped free from the sides of her face. When Catra looked down, she was surprised to see the tough-looking rival cadet’s eyes sparkling with tears. 

“That’s…that’s not fair…” she cried. 

“Fair?” said Catra, tail flicking angrily. “You were about to hurt my bunk-mate!” 

“So?”

“She can’t move! And there’s, like, six of you and one of her!”

“But we were gonna use our fists!” The rival girl sniffled. “We weren’t going to _stab_ her, you psycho!”

There were murmurs of agreement from the surrounding mob of rival cadets. The Horde laughed at the idea of fighting with honor. It was too _princessy._ But the squadrons had their own twisted sense of fair play. You could gang up on someone smaller and nobody would mind, but bringing your claws to a fist-fight was frowned upon. Especially if you were a scrappy kitten with a big mouth who nobody liked to begin with. 

“Yeah, Catra!” shouted a red-haired cadet at the back. “You always go too far!”

“Why’d you have to get involved?” snarled another cadet with curling horns. “Ain’t you heard of a fair fight?”

Catra hissed at the ring of hecklers. Her mismatched eyes, pupils dilated with the thrill of hunting, jumped from face to face through the cold mist of the shower room, daring them to attack. Catra noticed with some satisfaction that most of the cadets couldn't hold her gaze for long. 

“Well,” said Catra, throwing her arms wide. “If you want a fair fight, come and get one!”

There was a tense silence. Catra knew she could barely stand, so fending off a gang of rivals was out of the question. She had last night’s bruising behind her, and a week of sleepless starvation behind that. Only sheer bravado was keeping her from collapsing. 

She fully expected to get beaten down. She wanted it. She needed it. Let them strangle her with her own tail, tear her ears off, send her blood and tears trickling down the shower-room drain, just as long as they spared Adora. 

Catra stood her ground, bracing herself for the first punch…

…but the punch never arrived. The rival squad just mumbled among themselves. 

On any other morning, they might have surged forward and avenged their squad-mate. But seeing Catra descend from the shadows and turn their strongest squad-mate's into a sniffling mess had encouraged them to rethink their original plan.

The bitter truth was that cadets were cowardly. Yes, they’d crowd behind a strong warrior or a killer robot waving stun-rods and shouting “For the Horde!”, but they’d retreat screaming the moment the battle seemed to be going the wrong way. This was as true in the shower-room as it was in the battlefield. 

“Nobody?” said Catra, looking faintly disappointed. She sighed and pointed to the rival squad-leader at her feet. “Then can you at least clean up this garbage, please?”

After a few seconds of arguing, the rival squadron shoved a small cadet in Catra’s direction, who moved forwards with the kind of slow, shuffling steps prompted by an internal struggle between peer pressure and a healthy fear of being mauled. They grabbed their bleeding squad-leader and dragged her out of the circle. Catra watched them go with disdain.

The rival gang retreated, dragging their fallen comrade with them. The neighboring cadets shot a few glances at Catra, but turned away with disinterest once it was clear the fight was over. Soon, the showering and raucous banter resumed as if nothing had happened. 

Only when the last cadet turned their back did Catra allow herself to show weakness. It was just a little shiver at first. Then her claws sheathed and her body slumped as she transformed from a snarling beast back into a sniffling, beaten child again.

She wasn’t the only one hurting. A few steps behind Catra, Lonnie was prying her face off of the floor. She had at least a dozen new sources of pain to contend with, but there was a pain in the back of her head that rose above all the others. Lonnie reached back and felt something wet and ragged. 

One of her dreads had been torn almost clean out of her scalp by the rival squad-leader. It came loose in Lonnie’s hand with almost no effort.

Lonnie looked at the bloodstained lock and swallowed her tears. She turned her watery eyes up at Catra, who was caked in dust from her trip through the vents. For the first time in possibly her entire life, Lonnie was glad to see Catra. 

“Catra,” said Lonnie, breathing heavily with relief. “Thank y-”

“Where’s Adora?” interrupted Catra. 

Lonnie blinked. Suddenly, whatever gratitude she felt towards Catra for her rescue dissolved like ice in boiling water. Was that all she was good for in this squadron? Acting as a go-between for these two suicidal girlfriends? If it wasn’t ‘Where’s Catra?’ is was ‘Where’s Adora?’. Why did nobody give a shit where _Lonnie_ was? 

She pushed herself up, snarling at the pain, and gave Catra an offended glare. 

“Where have you been?” hissed Lonnie.

Catra rolled her glowing eyes. “In the vents. Obviously.” 

“But why were you in the vent-” Lonnie paused. Catra was carrying something in her tightly-clenched fist. It glinted in the harsh electric light of the shower rooms. “What is that?”

“Nothing.” snapped Catra, clutching it to her chest. “Where’s Adora?”

Lonnie scowled. “In the corner. Under Rogelio.”

Catra saw Rogelio tucked away beneath the freezing cold shower. His emerald-green tail uncurled to reveal Adora, who stirred, as if from a deep sleep, pushing her damp blonde hair away from her eyes.

The moment Adora saw Catra, specks of color appeared on her pale, stricken cheeks. She was blushing. Catra’s heart melted. She’d knew that Adora only blushed like that when she was really, really happy about something.

But then Catra’s eyes encountered the bloody rag in Adora’s mouth and swirling magic-burns on Adora's skin, and her smile faded. Catra had so many reasons to be happy to see Adora, but her guilt overshadowed and overpowered them all. Shadow Weaver’s voice echoed in her head.

_“You let Adora suffer.”_

Catra bit her lip. Adora wasn’t crying any more. In fact, she was smiling. But Catra’s self-doubt blinded her to Adora’s happiness. 

_She’s just pretending. Trying to spare my feelings. Putting on a brave face. She couldn’t be happy after everything I put her through. Nobody could, not even my Adora…_

Catra knew that even if she apologized to Adora every day for the rest of her life, it still wouldn’t be enough. 

But Catra had something better to give her bunk-mate than an apology. 

Catra held out her clenched fist to Adora, and uncurled her palm to reveal a metal vial engraved with the Horde emblem. Any cadet would have recognized it immediately. It was a bottle of painkillers, tiny white pellets that could swaddle a cadet’s nerves in warm, chemically-induced numbness. 

The Horde kept them under lock and key, with good reason. A cadet who took too many pain pills could grow to resent their absence and forget how to live without them. They could be driven to madness, and not the kind of madness the Horde encouraged to make you a better warrior. The kind that killed you.

Snatching a whole bottle had been a big risk, even with Catra’s innate feline stealthiness and encyclopedic knowledge of the Fright Zone’s ventilation system. But Catra knew it would be worth it just to see the relief on Adora’s face. 

“Here…” said Catra, with a hopeful smile.

To Catra’s dismay, there was no relief on Adora’s face. There was only pity.

Adora raised her hand, very gently clasped Catra’s claws shut around the pill bottle, and pushed it away, shaking her head.

The rejection cut through Catra like a knife. “B-But, Adora…”

Adora wished she hadn’t bitten her tongue. She wanted to say she didn’t need Catra to steal pills to make her feel better. She just needed her kitty warm and safe by her side. But Shadow Weaver’s punishment had stolen her voice, and there was nothing she could do to disprove all the doubts flooding into Catra’s head. 

“Adora, I know what...” Catra faltered. She was being forced to put into words something she struggled to endure even thinking about. “I know what Weaver’s magic is like. The hurt stays with you a long time, Adora. Please, just take the pills, I can't bear to see you like this…”

The bottle was thrust in front of her again. Adora winced, and for a brief moment she considered downing a couple of pills just to make Catra happy. But Adora knew better. She did not accept the bottle, even as Catra’s hand started to shake, rattling the pills inside.

“Please!” said Catra, desperately. She was the reason Adora was suffering. She had to be the one to make her feel better. It was the only way she could forgive herself.

Catra tore open the top of the bottle, grabbed Adora's hand and tried to pour it into her hand. The chalk-white pills just slipped through Adora’s limp fingers and spilled onto the floor.

“No!” cried Catra. 

She was about to crouch down and sweep them back up when, suddenly, Lonnie’s callused hands clapped over Catra’s shoulders and ripped her away from the shower. Catra was nimble enough to stay upright even as she skidded on the wet floor. Lonnie marched up and jabbed her shoulder. 

“What the fuck are these things!?” snarled Lonnie, pointing at the white capsules scattered on the grey shower-room tiles.

Catra swallowed. "Nothing."

“Liar!” Lonnie felt the ripped skin on the back of her head throb. The pain was feeding her anger. “I know painkillers when I see them! You raided the infirmary!"

“I didn’t! I just found them in the vents!” Catra protested. 

“Liar! Liar! _Liar!_ ” hissed Lonnie, punctuating each word with another jab. 

“Alright, alright!” cried Catra, rubbing her arm. “They’re pain pills, okay?”

Lonnie said nothing, but she advanced towards Catra, grabbed the front of her uniform and pulled her in close.

"Explain." Lonnie whispered urgently. "Please, just explain to me why you think this was a smart thing to do."

"I wasn't doing it for me! It's for Adora!" said Catra, blushing as she felt Lonnie's heavy breath against her face. "Shadow Weaver hurt her bad, Lonnie..."

"You don't think I noticed?" snapped Lonnie. "I was in the room too, you know."

“B-But I have to do something! Adora needs me to-”

“Adora doesn’t need anything from you!” snarled Lonnie. “She doesn't need you to steal, or fight, or get the squad into any more trouble than we already are. Me, Rogelio and Kyle are taking care of her, and we’re doing just fine without you!”

“Fine?” scoffed Catra, Her voice dropped into sarcasm. “Oh, yeah! You were doing just _great_ getting your face beaten into the floor!”

“I can take a beating.” said Lonnie. She clenched her fist around her torn-off dreadlock. “But I can’t take another night like last night. And I know you can’t either. For Horde’s sake, Catra, you just clawed a cadet’s face open! In front of everyone!”

Catra’s eyes hardened. “I was trying to save you!”

“Save me?” Lonnie laughed in joyless disbelief. “You didn't save anyone, Catra! You literally did the _exact same thing_ that got us all punished last week! Didn’t you learn anything?” Lonnie pointed to the other cadets. “That girl you scratched up. What’s gonna happen if she goes to Shadow Weaver?”

“Weaver will punish me.” said Catra, quietly.

“No, Catra,” said Lonnie, slowly shaking her head. “She'll punish _us._ ”

Catra looked down. Even though she was still in uniform and Lonnie was buck naked, Catra was the one feeling vulnerable. She always thought of her and Lonnie as equal rivals, but here Lonnie was scolding Catra like she was a dumb, six-year-old hordeling.

“Get it through your thick skull, Catra. This is not about you anymore.” Lonnie continued. “This is about us. Our squadron. You are _our_ responsibility. If you get punished; we all get punished. You wanna hurt yourself, Catra? Go right ahead. I don’t care. But I will not let you drag this squad down with you!”

There was a tense silence. Lonnie’s words had hurt Catra more than she realized.

“I know you don’t care.” said Catra, in a strangled voice. She felt the familiar sting of tears in her eyes. “I’m just…trying to help Adora.”

“If you wanna help Adora, then leave.” hissed Lonnie. “Go back to the barracks. Don’t steal anything. Don’t scratch anyone. Just sit there and do nothing.”

Catra's expression hardened. “I’m not leaving without Adora.”

"I'm not asking." said Lonnie, coldly.

"And _I'm_ not listening." said Catra, throwing up a rude gesture. 

"Alright, then," said Lonnie, casually. "Why don't I put this in a language you'll understand..."

Lonnie slammed down a lever set into the wall. Catra heard the pipes groan, but didn't have time to escape before a torrent of cold water hit her with enough force to instantly flatten her wild mane of hair to her shoulders.

Catra cried out as the world turned into a freezing, watery blur. She tried to escape, but Lonnie pinned her against the wall. Catra saw Lonnie's face enter through the curtain of icy water, her eyes gleaming with a malice she had never seen in her squad-mate before. 

_"Do as you're told, kitten."_ whispered Lonnie, in a voice that was not her own. _"Or do you want me to get the belt again?"_

Catra closed her eyes and screamed. The cold fog of the shower room swirled as her claws sliced through the air.

She didn’t want to scratch Lonnie. She really didn’t. But the pain and the hunger and the unexpected touch and the memories of a hundred long nights spent with Weaver plying her bare, shivering back with a hard-swung belt all fused together and overrode her mind and suddenly there were three deep red lines across Lonnie’s stomach. 

Lonnie just watched her own blood dribble onto the tiles. Then, In less than a second, she had both of her hands squeezed around Catra's neck. The two cadets reeled backwards and splashed to the floor. Catra tightened herself up, clenching her eyes shut as Lonnie yelled into her face. 

“You!” shouted Lonnie. “You use your claws on me?”

“Stop!” cried Catra. The bruises on her tender back were inflamed by the hard shower-room tiles. “You’re hurting me!”

 _“Good!”_ spat Lonnie. “I _starved_ for you and _cried_ over you and tried to protect your stupid bunkmate and you use your claws on me? You traitorous fucking princess! I'll _kill_ you!” 

Catra was scared. She had provoked Lonnie into anger plenty of times, but she had never seen her lose control like this. 

Lonnie’s hands left Catra’s throat, but that was just so she could start punching. Catra covered her face with her elbows just in time before the flurry of blows knocked her fangs out. Catra didn’t want to fight, but the pain sent her over the edge and soon her and Lonnie were rolling around in a tangle of punching, scratching, strangling limbs. 

The melee soon drew in an audience. All the showering cadets who had dispersed at Catra’s arrival had soon regrouped to get a good look at the violence. Even the older cadets were joining the crowd of spectators, whooping and cheering at the bloody 'entertainment'. 

Rogelio and Adora were the only ones lying outside of the circle. Rogelio looked up at the ring of baying cadets with dismay. For all his strength, Rogelio knew there wasn’t a thing he could do. But Adora wasn't about to give up so easily. She spit the red-stained rag from her mouth and cried out through her ruined tongue.

_“Catruh! Lonny! Stoph! Stoph!”_

She ran away from Rogelio but collapsed into the tiles after a few feet, shivering like a new-born. Adora screamed internally at her own helplessness as Rogelio lifted her off the floor, letting Adora use his body as a crutch. They both exchanged despairing glances.

Suddenly, the cheering cadets were silenced by a deafening crash of sound that echoed from the far end of the shower room.

Something big, green, and incredibly pissed off was running at full speed across the shower room, heavy boots splashing against the floor. Most cadets dived out its way in time, but some were too late and were thrown across the tiles by a vicious backhand or, as Adora noticed, back-tentacle.

“Make way for the Force Captain, you motherless little shits!” shouted Octavia.

When Octavia finally shoved her way through the ring of onlookers, she launched herself forward in a flying tackle that pinned both Lonnie and Catra to the ground, and got up carrying a cadet in each tentacle.

"That’s enough, you two!" shouted Octavia, trying to keep them apart by the scruff of their necks. "Cadet Lonnie, stand down! Cadet Catra, claws where I can see 'em! You brats better have a good explanation for this!"

Lonnie and Catra glared at each other murderously. Catra hissed and Lonnie tried to throw a haymaker but missed and struck Octavia's one good eye.

"Oh, that DOES it!" bellowed Octavia. 

She grabbed Lonnie and Catra by the head and bumped their skulls together with such force that even the surrounding bloodthirsty Horde soldiers cringed in sympathy. For several seconds, Lonnie and Catra groaned on the floor, clutching their heads, while Octavia loomed above them.

"Every time..." muttered Octavia, fixing her piercing one-eyed glare on Catra. She smoothed back the mane of tentacles that was her 'hair' in an attempt to compose herself. "Every time there's an incident in here, I always find you at the center of it, you little hairball. But where's blondie?"

Octavia stood in deep, thoughtful reflection for a few moments before she squared up and addressed the assembled Horde soldiery. "Where in _Hordak's name_ is Cadet Adora?"

The mob slowly parted to reveal the corner Adora and Rogelio had hidden themselves in. Octavia marched towards them, her tentacles still lashed tight around Lonnie and Catra.

Rogelio looked up at the approaching Octavia, then at his squad-mates, then at the painkillers Catra had spilled at Adora's feet. His blood ran even colder than usual. Acting fast, Rogelio crushed the pills to powder with one mighty foot and swept them down the drain with his tail.

When Rogelio looked up, Octavia was right in front of them. They all stood in silence for a few moments until Octavia tapped the hexagonal badge affixed to her chest. 

"See this badge?" she growled. 

Rogelio and Adora nodded. Then a tentacle lashed out and slapped both of them across the head. 

"Then why are you two not _saluting?_ " bellowed Octavia, at the top of her gills.

Rogelio tentatively raised his scaly claw, while Adora's hand rose trembling to her forehead.

"That's better!" said Octavia. She crouched to get a better look at Adora's magic-scarred body. "I'd heard that Weaver had given you a taste of the old Black Garnet last night, Adora, and I just wanted to see the results for myself. You poor, whupped little thing. If it was Catra, I could understand. But you?" 

Octavia shook her head and tutted. Adora couldn't be sure if Octavia was being sympathetic or sarcastic.

"Don't worry, Adora." Octavia continued. She winked. Or blinked. It was hard to tell as she was wearing an eye-patch. "Normally, I'd be dragging these two off to the Black Garnet Chamber, but I don't wanna get on the bad side of a future Force Captain, do I?" 

Adora almost sighed with relief. After everything that had befallen her squad, she would take whatever small mercies Octavia could offer. It said a lot about the Horde that a brawny, bullying sea monster like Octavia was considered one of the _nicer_ captains. But she couldn't shake her suspicions. There was something fishy about Octavia's tone, and not in the usual sense.

"Nah, I'll just administer the beating myself." said Octavia, happily. "Right in front of everybody. As as aspiring captain, I'm sure you know how effective public discipline can be."

Adora swallowed the lump of sickly nervousness in her throat. Okay, this was not good. But it was still less painful than surrendering them to Shadow Weaver. But then again, almost _anything_ short of an execution would have been less painful than that.

"However..." said Octavia. She winced awkwardly. "I have a real tight schedule today! So, unfortunately, I'll only have time to beat _one_ of these two brats this morning..." 

Chills ran up and down Adora's spine and settled in her stomach. She could feel the hammer about to drop...

"Hey!" said Octavia, pretending as though the idea had just occurred to her. "Why don't _you_ decide who gets punished? After all, the mark of a good Force Captain is making those tough life-or-death decisions! This will be excellent training!"

Rogelio had to catch Adora before she sunk to her knees. By the time Adora's heartbeat returned to normal and her sight came back, she shot a glance at Lonnie and Catra. They'd stopped glaring at each-other and were both gazing desperately at her.

"Well, go ahead, Cadet Adora" said Octavia. She flashed a shark-toothed smile. "Who's it going to be?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who would you choose? Lonnie or Catra? Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments, and don't forget to be as cruel as possible.


	10. The Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content warning: implied and actual abuse, eye horror]
> 
> There's no 'I' in squadron, but there's only one 'I' in Octavia.
> 
> (Thanks for all your amazing comments last week. I'm honestly flattered that people care enough about this sick little angst-fest to form well-thought-out opinions about the story and characters. This chapter is a little longer than the previous ones, but I hope it's worth the read!)

Adora just stood there. 

Octavia was staring at her. Lonnie and Catra were staring at her. Adora looked past them and saw a room full of Horde soldiers who had paused mid-shower. All staring. 

Adora tried to return the Force Captain’s one-eyed gaze in what she hoped was an assertive and badass way. But it was very hard to look badass when she was using Rogelio as a crutch and shivering like a leaf. 

“Hello?” said Octavia, chuckling at Adora’s distant, traumatized expression. She snapped her fingers in front of Adora’s face. “Anybody in there?”

The ring of cadets surrounding them laughed. Adora felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. This was like something straight out of a nightmare, right down to her being naked in front of the entire class. All that was left was for her teeth to start falling out…

“Come on, Cadet. This should be easy!” Octavia gestured to Lonnie and Catra, who both lay shivering at her boots with tentacles cinched tight around their waists. “I know who _I_ would choose.” Octavia’s voice dropped into a loud, hissing fake whisper. “Here’s a hint: her name rhymes with ‘Fatra’.”

More laughter rippled around the shower room. To say that Horde cadets had an obnoxious sense of humor would have been the biggest understatement in Etherian history. 

“Or…” added Octavia. “Think of it this way: just pick the squad-mate you hate the most! That should clear things up, right cadet?”

Adora’s mind reeled as she considered Octavia’s words. Hate the most.

Hating people was not something Adora was capable of, even in dark moments like this. She didn’t hate Octavia. She was just doing her job as Force Captain and punishing them for not keeping order, even if she was enjoying it a little too much. 

Adora didn’t even hate Shadow Weaver. No, she _feared_ Shadow Weaver. That was totally different. 

But Adora did feel anger. Anger at her own weakness, her bitten tongue and buckling knees. Anger at being denied the chance to comfort Catra yet again when all she’d needed was a second or two – just long enough for a kiss and an encouraging hug…

And, on top of all that, Adora was angry at being hungry. So. Fucking. _Hungry._

Like the rest of the Horde Squad, she’d been running on sheer adrenaline in the absence of actual food. But even that was running out. She could sense the crash coming. Not now, but very soon. Adora was hanging on to the edge of consciousness by her fingertips, and now Octavia treading on her hands, threatening to send her tumbling down. 

Ideas of escape or fighting back flashed through Adora’s mind and were dismissed just as quickly. You couldn’t bargain with a Force Captain. They didn’t answer to anyone save Hordak himself. And even if Octavia didn’t outrank them, she could have knocked down the exhausted Horde Squad with a single tentacle. Adora had no choice but to play along. 

“Hurry your ass up, Adora!” said Octavia, tapping her wrist. “Or we’ll be here all morning!”

 _Give me a minute!_ Adora screamed internally. But even a minute wouldn’t be enough. Adora could have poured over her feelings for Catra and Lonnie for weeks and still not been able to choose between them. 

It was at this moment that Adora realized she literally could not think of what would happen if she chose Catra or Lonnie. The mental image felt like grabbing a piece of red hot steel. It was only possible for a few seconds before the sheer pain forced her to stop. 

Then the thought struck her. She didn’t need to think! She was a cadet! A soldier! That’s why she’d learned all those drills and procedures, right? So she could strategize on the battlefield when her mind was too exhausted to think for itself. But as Adora dived into her memory for answers, she came up empty handed. There wasn’t a single tactical protocol that covered this kind of scenario. 

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. There was _something_ , but it wasn’t part of the Horde’s official protocol. It was a question in Horde History exam Adora had taken two weeks ago, the last week before Shadow Weaver’s collective punishment. 

_Based on the reports provided, which squad-mate would you decide to sacrifice in battle?_

_CADET A or CADET B?_  
_Explain your answer._

Adora remembered how she'd decided to sacrifice Cadet B. 

Cadet A was stronger, faster, and had superior endurance, but that just made them indispensable. Cadet B had a long list of disciplinary failures and a deplorable attendance record. Adora felt she could give Cadet B a hard shove towards their doom confident that, even if they died, they’d make the Horde stronger by simply no longer existing. 

It had been easy for Adora to throw Cadet B’s life away. They didn’t exist except on paper. She hadn’t grown up by Cadet B’s side. She hadn’t shared a bunk with Cadet B. She hadn’t heard Cadet B cry out in the night. She hadn’t felt Cadet B cling to her like she was the only thing that was warm in their cold, cruel little life. 

Adora despaired. Why couldn’t real life be like an exam? Or a battle sim? Where everything was victimless, and things always went according to plan? Out here in reality, everything was so messy and painful. Even now she could barely look at Lonnie and Catra without tearing up. 

Catra hung close to the ground. Her ears hung flat against her shivering head. The tatters of the red-and-grey Horde uniform hung off her bruised back. She was so afraid of moving, she didn’t even sweep her wet mane away from her face. 

Lonnie was snarling in a token effort to look brave, but she was powerless to stop the tears leaving her eyes. She still held her ripped-out dreadlock in her hand, the price she’d paid for trying to protect Adora.

Adora hoped, selfishly, that Lonnie or Catra might offer themselves up to Octavia and spare her the responsibility for the bloodshed that was sure to follow. But they kept quiet. They were afraid. Adora could see it in their eyes. 

_Stop thinking like this!_ Adora scolded herself. _Stop being soft! Who are you helping by crying? Do you think you’ll have time to worry about each individual soldier when you’re a Force Captain? You need to grow up. You need to be stronger._

_You need to be like Shadow Weaver._

Adora’s frayed nerves punished her for praising Weaver after everything she’d done, but it was true. Shadow Weaver was an unstoppable force. Once she had a mission, she carried it out to the bitter end. She was not swayed by the pain of others, whether they were Rebellion soldiers refusing to surrender intel, or little magicats who’d scratched graffiti onto the side of their bunk. She’d torture them both without a care in the world.

Nothing could break Shadow Weaver’s heart. She didn’t have one. 

“You’re wasting time, cadet.” Octavia snarled, stepping closer.

Adora did not move, though she felt herself grasp onto Rogelio even tighter.

“You don’t want to choose, do you?” said Octavia. 

The pity in her voice was humiliating, but Adora could not stop herself nodding slowly. 

“I know, I know…” said Octavia. “But being a Force Captain isn’t about what you _want_ , cadet. It’s about what you gotta do, even if it hurts you.” She cracked her webbed knuckles with a nauseating sound. “You got until the count of ten, and if I don’t hear a name, I’m sending them both to Weaver.”

Adora felt her mind leave her body. 

It was difficult to understand, at first. Adora's body stayed in the shower room, but her mind slipped off into a strange level of consciousness she had only encountered a few times before, when she was on the ground in a training duel and the commander was counting down the seconds until she was declared K.O. 

The threat of absolute defeat could mess with Adora’s sense of reality. It could stretch out seconds into minutes, giving her time to think where almost no time existed.

 _Okay, Captain Octavia,_ thought Adora. _You want me to choose. I’ll choose._

“Ten!”

_The mission. Endure a beatdown from Octavia. Easier said than done. Octavia’s got no magic. Doesn’t need any. She’s got muscles. Tentacles. A mean streak worthy of a ranking captain in Hordak’s army. A beating from her feels like being stampeded by a whole squadron. It’s a personal escort into a world of pain. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Least of all my squad-mates._

_I can’t decide._

“Nine!”

_But, Lonnie, you can take a beating. You said it yourself. Those weren’t just words. When you were little you threw a tantrum until Captain Grizzlor let you spar with the senior cadets. He said they’d just beat the snot out of you, and he was right, but you didn’t care. You don’t react to pain like other cadets. You eat it for breakfast._

_You are willing to hurt to win. You got the scars on your knuckles to prove it._

“Eight!”

_And Catra, if there’s one thing you’ve proven you can do better than anyone else in the Fright Zone, it’s endure. I felt the Black Garnet for the first time last night. It felt like every fiber of my body was on fire. You endured that, year after year. People call you a cry-baby, but, really, when you think about it, you’ve been suffering in silence._

_You’re so strong, Catra. You can take another beating, right? What’s one more bruise mean to someone with hundreds?_

“Seven!”

_Oh, Adora, who the **fuck** are you kidding?_

_Everything! One more bruise could mean everything!_

_I’m trying to pretend this is okay, but it’s not. Maybe it’s true that Lonnie and Catra are strong in ways I don’t understand, but I’m even more naïve than Kyle if I think either of them will just brush this off like every other horrible thing that happens to us._

_This won’t just be a beating. This will be betrayal. From me. That’s not something you can walk off in the morning. Maybe they’ll forgive me, or maybe my choice will be what tears the squad apart for good. I can’t risk that.The Fright Zone has all the enemies and rivals and tormentors a girl could ever want but I only got one group of friends and their loyalty and love has got to see me through my entire life because if I lose that I am not getting it back, it’s gone for good…_

_I can’t decide._

“Six!”

_Lonnie, you take care of everyone. You treat Kyle like a pest but boil with rage if the other cadets do the same. You clean up our messes and drag us out of trouble. You hold this squadron together. Any other cadet would have requested transfer out of this mess long ago. But not you._

_What will you do if I choose you? After you care for me, comfort me, get stomped into the dirty shower room tiles for me, and in the end, I say, “take her, not Catra”? Will you ever care for anyone ever again?_

“Five!”

_Catra. Baby. Kitty. You don’t go looking for trouble, but trouble finds you all the same. People taunt you and hit you and you fight back and try to match them taunt for taunt, hit for hit, until everyone forgets the reason you're fighting in the first place. Everyone looks at your bruises and shakes their head and says, “you deserve it”, and that’s not the worst part. The worst part is you believe them…_

_I don’t believe them. I’m in your side, Catra. I disobeyed Shadow Weaver for you, because even though it hurt – really, really, **really** hurt – it was still less painful than hurting you, Catra. _

_I have never given you a reason to think I don’t love you. I can’t start now._

_I can’t decide._

“Four!”

_I want to save you both. I want it so bad. I want to raise myself up like a shield between you and all the belts and fists in the Fright Zone. I'm tired of helping the Horde break my squad. I'm tired of drying Catra's tears and I'm tired of disappointing Lonnie and I'm just plain **tired.** I want to fix you. Weaver can’t starve us forever, can she? She’s angry now, but once she calms down, we can go the infirmary and get you fixed and fed, and we can talk things through. _

_You’ll understand I had no choice. Right? You’ll understand I had to obey the Force Captain. You’ll understand-_

_No. No. I’m kidding myself again._

_Pain is pain. Just because its understandable doesn’t make it hurt any less. Maybe you’ll say you forgive me. But deep down you’ll be thinking “She left me. She left me. She let her hurt me.”_

_I can’t decide._

“Three!”

_I can’t decide._

_I can’t._

_But there’s so many things I **can** do. _

_I can field-strip a stun-rod in 10.2 seconds. I can perform an advanced foot-sweep takedown on a cadet twice my size. I can march 20 miles in full gear. I can fight to suppress little voice at the back of my head telling me that it’s bad to hurt people, and succeed every time. I can do all the things they tell me a good cadet is supposed to do._

_Adora can't decide, but a Force Captain **can.** _

“Two!”

_Maybe the rest of the cadets are scared of pain, but a Force Captain is never scared._

_Just like you said, Octavia. This is what I gotta do. Even if it hurts me…_

“One!”

_Oh, this is really gonna hurt me…_

Adora raised her hand, silencing Octavia’s countdown. She tried to say something, but couldn’t force the words past the bloody mess of her tongue. 

“Oh! Do I hear a decision?” said Octavia, grinning maliciously. She cupped her hand to one of her long, fin-like ears. “Let’s hear it, cadet…”

As Octavia leaned in close, Adora reached up and, almost delicately, grabbed Octavia’s eye-patch and stretched it backwards like a slingshot. 

For less than a moment, the greenish-purple, partially-closed hole that was once Octavia’s eye was visible.

Then Adora let go.

The patch snapped against the tender empty eye-socket. Octavia’s roar of pain was so loud that it echoed across miles of metallic hallways across the Fright Zone and even reached the ears of Hordak himself, causing him to shoot a suspicious glance at the roof of his laboratory.

Adora saw Octavia stumble backwards with one hand clamped over her bad eye. For a few moments, Adora saw the Force Captain’s good eye looking at her with an expression of genuine shock. Then Octavia's face clenched into a mask of blistering, white-hot fury.

Lonnie and Catra gasped as Octavia’s tentacles unwrapped themselves from their bodies and flung towards Adora to wrench her from Rogelio’s protective grasp. Adora squeezed her eyes shut as Octavia’s shadow fell over her and a clammy hand closed around her neck. 

_Well, I made my choice,_ thought Adora, as she felt herself tense in anticipation. _No way to stop it now. Just gotta live with it._

Octavia tried to speak, but she literally choked on her own rage and had to resort to the universal language of the Horde. Violence. 

The first punch knocked the wind out of Adora’s lungs, and there were plenty more to come after that. Octavia roared incoherently as her fists rained down on every angle of Adora’s unprotected body. Her tentacles lashed wildly around her, striking everything in reach. One knocked down a rival cadet, while another ripped a showerhead from the wall, sending an uncontrollable jet of water spewing over the floor. 

The shower room erupted into chaos. The surrounding crowd of cadets suddenly lost their appetite for violence and stampeded backwards, slipping over and shoving each-other in a desperate effort escape Octavia’s rampage.

Adora hung weightless in Octavia’s vice-like grip, eye shut tight, feeling like this was all some strange dream. Octavia's blows were stunning her, sending lights dancing across her vision. After a while the punches seemed to pass right through her, and she could only feel the sound of the water rushing, Lonnie screaming, “You idiot! You did it again, you suicidal _idiot!_ ” and, above all the madness, a sad, high-pitched cry. 

It was Catra. 

Adora felt a throb of sympathy as Catra's heartbreaking wail sang in her ears, but no regret. She'd done what any good Force Captain would do. Sacrifice herself to save the squadron.

Rogelio saw his chance to escape and took it. He darted past Octavia, threw Lonnie and Catra over his shoulders, and barged at full sprint to the locker rooms. 

“No! No!” cried Catra, reaching back as the sight of Adora twitching in Octavia’s grasp shrank into the distance. Tears boiled out of her eyes as she howled and thumped her fists ineffectually against Rogelio’s scaly back. “Let me go! You scaly bastard! Let me _go!_ ”

Rogelio just kept running to safety. In some unspoken way, he knew it was what Adora wanted him to do.

He skidded around the corner and into the locker-room, where Kyle had just arrived carrying a load of clean uniforms. He had just enough time to yelp in surprise before Rogelio scooped him onto his shoulders without slowing down and threw all three of his squad-mates into the nearest laundry basket. He dived in after them and slammed the lid shut. 

The once-crowded shower room was now completely empty. Octavia stood alone, breathing heavy and slow with exhausted catharsis, while Adora hung in her grasp like a doll that had been played with a little too roughly.

Then, Adora started laughing. It hurt her jaw, her throat, and her ribs, but she laughed anyway. It was little more than a weak giggle, but it drove Octavia mad. 

“What?” she growled. “What’s so funny?”

Octavia dropped Adora to the ground and slammed her boot into the softest part of the cadet’s stomach, painting a giant mauve bruise onto her belly. Adora choked, but just kept on laughing. 

“What’s so _fucking_ funny?” Octavia yelled, stomping her again. 

Adora knew she looked crazy, but she didn’t care. She was laughing because she’d just realized that there was _nothing_ Octavia could do to hurt her at this point. Last night, she’d been tortured with binding-magic and forced to watch the girl she loved reduced to tears. What did Octavia have to threaten her with? A punch in the stomach? 

She laughed, and laughed, and laughed...

"Stop!" bellowed Octavia. "I command you to stop!"

Her boot lashed out again to kick Adora straight across the face. The impact sent Adora into a memory. 

Her and Catra. Six years old bundles of puppy fat and hyperactivity, exploring the Fright Zone hand in hand. Climbing to the top of a railing to watch the big cadets fight in the arena below. Her suddenly shouting, “Hey, Octavia! You’re a dumb-face!”, and feeling an electric shock of nervous adrenaline at her own disobedience. She had never been so openly insubordinate, but it had been worth it just to see Catra's cute face fill with amazement that someone would stand up for her like that.

And then Catra had laughed. Adora could still remember it. That wavering little giggle...

Adora giggled alongside the tiny Catra in her memory, prompting Octavia to stomp her again and again in the desperate hope that if she hit Adora hard enough she’d stop laughing. But she didn’t. The Force Captain staggered back, catching her breath, rage slowly draining away. Adora opened her eyes and stared up at Octavia. Even though her body was bruised and still half-corrupted from Weaver’s magic, Adora’s baby-blue eyes gleamed with newfound energy. 

Octavia burned with humiliation when she saw how ineffective her beat-down had been. Her massive body seemed to shudder with disgust as she finally realized with absolute certainty what she'd suspected for a long, long time. Adora was a monster. No wonder Shadow Weaver claimed the cadet for herself. Inhumanity recognized inhumanity...

Sometime snapped inside Octavia’s brain. She was obligated by disciplinary protocol not to go _too_ hard on cadets. But she was a Force Captain! She'd led armies! She’d _executed_ soldiers that were being less insubordinate than Adora was right now!

That thought echoed in her mind as she very slowly reached down to her boot and pulled out something sharp. A combat knife. The wet blade shimmered in the harsh fluorescent lighting. 

Adora laughed obliviously Octavia knelt down beside her, clenching the knife in her fist, and lifted Adora's head up. Octavia smiled with warm satisfaction at the whimper of fear that left Adora's mouth as her eyes encountered the huge blade.

"Oh, no, don't stop laughing..." growled Octavia, her voice oozing dark sarcasm. 

Adora looked down at the serrated metal. Fear had jolted her out of her half-conscious daze.

"I want to go on with the punishment. I really do. But you cadets..." purred Octavia. "You get this real cute look in your eyes when I beat you up. All sleepy and dizzy from the pain. Like a kid who's all tuckered out." Octavia's palm clenched around the knife handle. "Your eyes just look so sweet and delicate and... _vulnerable_..."

Adora squirmed. She had expected Octavia to be pissed, but not _this_ pissed. Not gouge-Adora's-eyes-out pissed. 

“I got another _choice_ for you to make, cadet…” said Octavia. She hovered the combat knife back and forth between Adora’s trembling eyes. “Which one of your little baby-blues d'you think you'd miss the most?”

Suddenly, the shower room lights flickered and sparked. One by one, they burnt out. Darkness fell.

For one terrible moment Adora saw only black nothingness and thought Octavia had delivered on her threat, until she blinked a few times and confirmed her eyes were still safe in their sockets. The darkness covered everything but the lambent yellow glow of Octavia’s one good eye. It even seemed to blot out the shower room itself. Adora couldn't hear rushing water or the cries of panicking cadets any more. Only the sound of her own quickening heartbeat.

Something approaching fear appeared on Octavia's savage face as she looked up at the surrounding darkness. It was moving. The deepest part of the darkness was standing up and stalking towards them.

The darkness had eyes. The darkness had a voice.

_“That’s enough, Octavia. She’s mine.”_


	11. The Hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content warning: physical / mental abuse, semi-bad-touch]
> 
> "...those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end for they do so with the approval of their own conscience." CS LEWIS
> 
> Unfortunately, there is an awful lot of Shadow Weaver being Shadow Weaver in this chapter, and there's an interaction with Adora that could be triggering for some, so read with caution.

Adora and Octavia shivered under the crushing weight of Shadow Weaver’s gaze. 

They could not see the sorceress’ body, which was lost in the darkness. Only her eyes. They pierced through the gloom and cast a dim, pale light over them both. 

Although Octavia considered herself much more experienced and mature than bratty cadets like Adora or Catra, she shared their fear of Shadow Weaver. Terror transcended rank in the Fright Zone, and even a scarred, fully-armored Horde soldier felt like a tiny cadet in training shorts when Shadow Weaver’s glowing white eyes fell upon them. 

It was always the eyes that broke people. Those pale fires burning deep in the eyeholes of her mask. They were the only part of Shadow Weaver’s true face anyone had ever seen. 

Octavia remembered hearing a rumor that Shadow Weaver could kill someone just by looking at them. She’d dismissed it as childish exaggeration long ago, but now she was the subject of Weaver’s full merciless attention, Octavia was prepared to believe it. 

She stood up and saluted. “Captain Octavia, reporting for duty!”

 _“I know who you are, Octavia.”_ snarled Shadow Weaver. Her eyes flared. _“Explain yourself.”_

The fury in Weaver’s voice startled Octavia, but she brushed it off without hesitation. 

“I was just breaking up a riot in the showers. Then Cadet Adora assaulted me.” Octavia gestured to Adora, who lay dazed and bruised on the shower room floor with one of the Force Captain’s clammy green tentacles twisted around her neck. “The little brat went straight for my eye, and I had to make an example of her.” Octavia gave a proud smile. “I’m sure you can understand the situation warranted some extreme discipline. Nothing to be concerned about.”

 _"I will be the judge of that."_ said Shadow Weaver. _“Now step away from Adora.”_

Adora gasped with relief as Octavia’s tentacles left her neck. She watched wide-eyed as the Force Captain took a few wary steps towards Shadow Weaver. There was something both hilarious and disturbing about seeing Octavia, who had just sent an entire roomful of cadets fleeing in terror, being so meek in Shadow Weaver’s presence. 

_“Put the knife away.”_

Slowly, and without breaking eye contact, Octavia bent down and slid the serrated blade into the black leather sheath on her boot. 

_“What were your intentions with that blade, child?”_

Octavia’s eye twitched at the insult. Child? She was a grown merwoman and a Force Captain with years of battlefield experience. But Octavia wisely discerned that contradicting Shadow Weaver at this moment would be tantamount to suicide, and swallowed her anger. 

“I wasn’t going to cut her, ma’am!” replied Octavia, hurriedly. There was a desperate edge to her voice. “I just wanted to scare her a little.” 

Shadow Weaver’s eyes narrowed skeptically, then peered down at Adora.

Adora had managed to sit up. She was wincing and hugging her bruised stomach. The damage from a week of starvation and a dozen jackbooted stomps from Octavia made her belly feel like it was full of broken glass. Just getting up from the floor had been agonizing. 

Her bleary eyes rolled up, saw Shadow Weaver, and quickly returned to the floor. Adora felt ashamed. Moments ago, she’d been brave enough to laugh straight in Octavia’s face. Now, she couldn’t bear to hold Shadow Weaver’s gaze even for an instant. 

She could feel those glowing white eyes on her skin. They were examining her. Judging her. Weighing her up. Adora curled up and hugged her legs to her body, trying to cover herself. 

_“Why did you beat her, Octavia?”_ inquired Shadow Weaver, without looking up.

“Ma’am, she struck a Force Captain!” replied Octavia, angrily. “On the battlefield, that’d get her executed. If anything, a beating was too kind for the little brat…”

 _“I know why she deserved her punishment,”_ snapped Shadow Weaver, her eyes darting up to Octavia. _“I want to know why **you** thought you were worthy of administering it.”_

Octavia shuddered. She knew Shadow Weaver was digging at something, but she couldn’t tell what it was, and that made her anxious. 

“Ma’am, it was just a beating,” said Octavia, uncertainly. “You know, an ass kicking? I hand about three or four of them every day. What makes this one so special?”

Shadow Weaver leaned forward, eyes wide. Octavia shrank back and realized she’d made a gigantic mistake. 

_“I told you a long, long time ago that if Adora misbehaved, you should bring her to me.”_ said Shadow Weaver, flatly. 

“Ma’am, I tried to do that, I really did,” began Octavia. She cringed as she considered her next words very carefully. “But...”

_“But what? Out with it, child.”_

The room fell silent again. Octavia squirmed. Intuition told her that she was one misplaced word away from having her synapses set on fire by the Black Garnet. 

“Ma’am,” Octavia began, “She made a fool out of me in front of at least a dozen squadrons. There was no way I could let her get away with that. I had no choice!”

 _“You did have a choice.”_ said Shadow Weaver. _“You could have let me handle her, but you wanted the satisfaction of beating her yourself.”_ Shadow Weaver’s voice dropped into venomous anger. _“Because that’s all you care about, isn’t it? Satisfying your emotional impulses. You didn’t consider for one moment whether your punishment was constructive discipline.”_

“Constructive?” Octavia gawped in disbelief. “It’s a punishment! It’s supposed to hurt them!”

Shadow Weaver gave a dry, bitter laugh which angered Octavia even further. 

_“Oh, child. You don’t understand the first thing about raising good cadets, do you?”_

“What do you want from me, Weaver?” shouted Octavia. “I’m trying to win a war! How do you expect us to liberate Etheria if I have beg for your permission every time a worthless piece of cannon-fodder gets out of line-”

Suddenly, then shadows around Octavia grew arms and descended in an unbroken swarm. She didn’t even have time to scream before she was dragged into the air.

 _“Adora is **not** cannon-fodder.”_ hissed Shadow Weaver, as she watched her dark tendrils curl themselves around Octavia’s body. _“Do you have any idea how important this girl is to me? Do you know how hard I’ve worked to help her realize her full potential?”_

Octavia could only choke in response, kicking and struggling in the air.

 _“I will not lie to you, child. I am sufficiently angry to kill you this very instant. It would not be hard. In fact, it would be very satisfying...”_ Shadow Weaver smiled behind her mask. _“But unlike you, I am sensible enough not waste the life of a skilled soldier just to satisfy my anger. So consider yourself very, very lucky…”_

Cold sweat was beginning to trickle down Olivia’s face. Her one good eye clenched shut, and she started to scream before the magic even hit her. And when it did, her scream rose to fill the entire room.

Adora shut her eyes, but the red light still flashed through her closed lids. She clasped her hands tight over her ears, but the howls of agony filtered through and stabbed into her brain. And worst of all, Adora could feel the magical burns on her skin throb in concert with the Black Garnet. It felt like she was back on the floor of the barracks all over again… 

When the screams finally died into pathetic whimpering, Adora opened her eyes. 

Octavia lay collapsed in a heap of tentacles. Every now and again she twitched as a shadowy tendril floated up from her body and re-joined the surrounding darkness. 

Adora wanted to run away. But there was nowhere to run to. The shower room had vanished into the dark, leaving Adora in a void in which nothing existed but her shivering, naked body and Shadow Weaver.

She wanted to say something, but her bloody, bitten tongue still felt heavy as lead in her mouth. But even if she could talk, what would she even say at this point? “Hello, ma’am. Sorry for assaulting a Force Captain right after disobeying a direct order. Can I have a ration bar now?” 

Adora saw Shadow Weaver slowly advancing towards her. She squeezed her eyes shut, and bitterly regretted not hugging Catra when she had the chance. 

A sudden feeling of pressure forced Adora’s eyes open. Shadow Weaver’s arms had enfolded her body in a firm, unyielding grip. She was pressing Adora into her bony chest so tightly the cadet could barely breathe. It took Adora a while to realize what was happening, but when she did, her heart stopped. 

Shadow Weaver was hugging her.

 _“You stupid girl,”_ she whispered. _“You thoughtless, ungrateful, reckless little girl.”_

Adora’s eyes opened wide. She almost fell back, but Weaver’s grip on her bare body strengthened. A cold, spindly hand reached up to cradle her head.

 _“Octavia could have killed you.”_ Shadow Weaver continued. She began to rake her sharp black fingernails along Adora’s blonde scalp. _“If I hadn't intervened, you'd have been mutilated. And then everything you’ve achieved, all of our work together, it would have meant nothing. How could you do this to me?"_

Adora shuddered in numb disbelief as Weaver held her tight. There was no warmth from her embrace. No softness. Only unfeeling _possession._

 _"There are times, Adora,"_ murmured Shadow Weaver, _"When I think you don't understand what all this is for. The starvation. The Black Garnet. Do you think I go to all this trouble just to destroy you?"_ Shadow Weaver's voice lowered to a whisper that made Adora's ears tingle. _"No, you silly girl. This is all for your own good..."_

There was no response from Adora's body. She remained as slumped and passive as a doll in Shadow Weaver's arms.

 _“You can't go on like this, Adora,”_ Shadow Weaver's voice oozed threat even as she gently brushed Adora’s hair. _“Whatever is inside your mind that made you disobey me last night, whatever compelled you to strike a Force Captain, whatever drives you to sacrifice your own success for those who are inferior to you in every regard, I have to rip it out of you. And to do that…”_

Shadow Weaver pulled back Adora’s head from her chest and stared into her baby-blue eyes. 

_“…I have to hurt you.”_

Adora’s throat tightened as she returned Shadow Weaver’s glare, hypnotized by the sight of the white lights deep within the mask. She could feel the lingering power of the Black Garnet on Shadow Weaver’s cold, embracing hands. It made the tiny hairs on Adora’s skin stand on end, like static electricity. 

_“I have to hurt you very, very badly.”_ said Shadow Weaver. _“But you will redeem yourself, Adora. We will move past this. And believe me, when you are older, all this pain will make sense, and you will be grateful I was here to hurt you at times like this.”_

It was too much. Adora resigned herself to the sorceress’ devastating, loveless embrace. Her head rolled forward on to Weaver’s chest, and she began to cry.

 _“Oh, dear,”_ cooed Shadow Weaver. _“Your tears won’t sway me, Adora. I've made up my mind.”_

With that last word, she pushed Adora roughly onto the tiles and stood up to her full height. 

_“I'll give you back to your squad. For now. But you will come to the Black Garnet Chamber after lights out. Alone. I will be waiting.”_

The lights flickered on. The shadows disappeared, and Shadow Weaver vanished along with them. Suddenly Adora was flung out of the void and landed back in the cold, fluorescent shower room with only Octavia’s unconscious body for company.

Adora just lay there on her back, listening to the water rushing from the pipes ripped from the wall during Octavia's rampage. Her eyes were wide open, unseeing. Even though Shadow Weaver had disappeared, Adora could still feel those gaunt, bloodless arms wrapped around her. 

It was at that point that the wave of fatigue from seven days without food came crashing down on Adora. She made no attempt to resist the urge to sleep, and was unconscious within seconds.

Octavia managed to get up before Adora did. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t look at Adora. She simply rose to her feet, brushed her hair-tentacles back, and made the quickest departure that her dignity as Force Captain would allow. 

In one of the neighboring locker rooms, a laundry basket flipped open and Kyle’s worried, pale face peered out of it. 

“See anything?” hissed Lonnie, from inside the basket. 

Kyle scanned the room anxiously for any knife-toting merwomen and dark sorceresses. There didn't seem to be any around, so Kyle struck the side of laundry bin and whispered: “All clear!”

The Horde Squad crawled out of the pile of bloody, grimy Horde uniforms as if emerging from a bomb shelter. Kyle was shoved out of the basket by Lonnie, who leapt out after him. Rogelio climbed out with some difficulty, as his right arm was both restraining and carrying an exhausted, tear-streaked Catra.

Catra had given up trying to escape Rogelio's protective grip. But when she caught Adora's scent, she uttered a piercing cry and renewed her struggles. Rogelio winced as she dug her claws into his scales, and looked to Lonnie for instructions.

“Just let her go, Rogelio...” said Lonnie, bitterly.

Rogelio did as he was told. Catra slipped from his claws, padded barefoot out of the locker room and slipped on the half-flooded shower room tiles. She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the hated feeling of cold water soaking into her fur, and sprinted to Adora’s side. 

When Lonnie caught up with Catra, she was hugging Adora's bruised, comatose body. Lonnie averted her eyes as the sight sent an overwhelming crossfire of sympathy and anger coursing through her brain. She wasn't sure whether to curse Adora or cry for her. So she just muttered to herself and wept.

As the sound of Lonnie crying reached Catra's damp, flattened ears. She gazed up in anger and snarled, “Are you happy now?” 

The sudden change in Catra's tone stunned Lonnie for a few seconds, during which Rogelio and Kyle filed in behind her. Lonnie wiped her eyes and returned Catra's gaze. "What?" she replied. 

"You wanted to keep me away from Adora, and you did." said Catra in a weak, accusing voice. "So, are you happy now? Is this what you wanted?"

“Adora wanted this to happen, Catra. She chose to take the hit for us. There was nothing I could do.”

“Yes, there was!” Catra sobbed and fortified herself with a shuddering breath before yelling, “You could have left us alone!"

Silence descended like a cold fog. Lonnie shivered as she fought against the impulse to scream back at Catra.

“Please, we don't have time to fight anymore,” begged Lonnie. She began to step closer. “Let's just get Adora back to-”

“No!” Catra hissed and clutched Adora’s unconscious body so close she could feel her fluttering heartbeat. “Go away! Leave us alone!”

“What, are you going to take care of her by yourself?"

“You don’t think I can?” Catra growled and tightened her stubborn grip on Adora. Even Rogelio with a crowbar could not have wrested Adora from her arms at this stage.

Lonnie stared into Catra's eyes. She could see ocean of tears swelling beneath her angry, freckled face. 

“Catra, listen to me,” said Lonnie, calmly. “Shadow Weaver is pissed at you. Octavia is pissed at you. That jerk cadet with the stupid grin probably wants to kill you. And to top it all off, you are starving. We need to stick together, Catra. You can't even protect yourself when you're this weak. How do you expect to protect Adora?" 

Lonnie stepped closer, but Catra hissed again, her trembling lips curling back to reveal glinting fangs.

“I am _not_ weak!” she cried.

Trembling with effort, Catra supported Adora’s back with one arm, swept under her bare legs with another, and tried to lift her bunkmate off the grimy tiles. But she could only lift Adora a few inches before the bruises on her back reignited with fresh, fiery pain. Catra cried out as her legs buckled and she crashed knees-first onto the tiles with Adora still cradled in her arms.

Catra lay there in a heap of sodden fur. Her eyes grew wide as the unbearable reality of her own weakness dawned on her. She felt so ashamed. Adora had challenged Shadow Weaver and fought a Force Captain for her, and she couldn't even lift Adora off the cold, dirty floor in return. 

When she finally looked up, she found Lonnie kneeling down opposite her. Rogelio sat close by with Kyle's thin face peering over his scaly shoulder. There was no anger or mockery in their expressions, just genuine sympathy, which Catra found infinitely more humiliating.

She wanted to growl, to scare them away. But when Catra stared at the black tendrils on Adora's limbs, the discolored bruises on her stomach, and the dark rings under her eyes, her love for her fallen bunk-mate broke down her bestial facade and exposed the desperate, sniffling child underneath. 

“I…” croaked Catra. “I…need your help…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we are officially getting into double digit chapters. I really hope I've made this fic worth your time to read, and I promise the next chapter will be a little less unrelentingly dark. Maybe.


	12. The Recital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content warning: parental abuse, emotional manipulation]
> 
> Adora wasn't born hiding her true feelings. She had to learn to do it, and she had a very good teacher...

Adora’s dreams were full of darkness. 

Moonless, timeless, soundless, everlasting and unending darkness. A silent black vacuum, as cold and crushing as the bottom of the ocean. 

Then, suddenly, two lights appeared. They were eyes. Glowing white eyes fixed atop a shadow so dark that it cast a shadow on darkness itself. 

It wrapped its arms around her. It stroked her hair. It whispered into her ears. And Adora’s mind screamed and fought and yearned so hard for an escape that she kicked a hole through the dream and fell through it, into a memory. 

Suddenly, the dark void became…

_  
…the dark hallway outside Shadow Weaver’s chambers. It was late evening. Only the machines in the walls were awake. Adora was seven years old and muttering verses from the Force Captain Primer under her breath. She had three reasons for doing this._

_One, she wanted to be a Force Captain when she grew up. She told this to everybody every chance she got, and it either pissed them off or made them laugh. But it was the truth._

_Two, she had to keep her memory fresh for her upcoming recitation with Shadow Weaver. Not every cadet got special one-to-one masterclasses with Hordak’s own second-in-command, and Adora was determined to put them to good use._

_And three, she was desperate to distract herself from the…noises. The noises from inside Shadow Weaver’s study of something very hard hitting something soft and defenseless, over and over and over and over again._

_The noises stopped. The door slid open. A pale, spidery hand threw a freshly-punished Catra past Adora and into the cold hallway. Catra stumbled and fell. Weaver hadn’t even given her time to pull her shorts up._

_Adora averted her eyes. But even if she couldn’t see Catra, but she could feel Catra’s pain. It radiated off her beaten, tenderized skin like something that had been set on fire._

_“Punctual as always, Adora.” said Shadow Weaver._

_The sorceresses’ voice was welcoming, but Adora struggled to return Weaver’s gaze. Her eyes kept wandering to the limber, ink-black wand in Shadow Weaver’s hands. Adora wasted no time connecting the sinister implement to Catra’s welts._

_“Come in,” said Shadow Weaver, beckoning._

_Adora obeyed, and started to walk. It was only a few steps, but it felt like an unbelievably long distance because Adora knew Catra was staring up at her, all but begging for a nod or a pat on the shoulder or some gesture of comfort from her bunk-mate. But Adora just kept her eyes down and stepped into the Shadow Weaver’s office, ignoring her completely._

_Catra was just beginning to cry when the door slammed shut behind Adora._

_Adora wondered how a girl who wanted to become a Force Captain could act in such a cowardly way and ignore her fellow cadet’s pain._

_There was nothing she could do. That’s what she told herself. But deep down, she knew it was because her aching concern for Catra paled in comparison to her own fear of punishment._

_She stood to attention in the middle of the study, trying to mask her fear with a neutral frown of soldiery concentration._

_The room was as dark and mysterious as the sorceress who occupied it. The metal floor was covered by a tattered rug with a strange pattern. Battered dark closets full of ancient books leant against the metal walls. Everything looked like it had come from somewhere far, far older and more mystical than the Fright Zone._

_Adora was both amazed and frightened to see evidence that anything existed outside the Fright Zone besides killer princesses and endless war._

_“Are you ready?” asked Shadow Weaver. She took a seat on her desk and folded her arms._

_“And waiting, ma’am!” said Adora, saluting, amazed that she could speak without stuttering. She couldn’t take her eyes off the wand. Her stomach churned anxiously._

_“Very well,” said Shadow Weaver. The wand swished in the air as she pointed it towards the cadet. “Let us hear again the second chapter of the Force Captain Primer. Begin.”_

_Adora swallowed her anxiety, cleared her throat began her recital in the most stirring, powerful-sounding voice her seven-year-old lungs could produce._

_“‘Hordak said: the most supreme tactic available to a Force Captain is deception!’” she chanted, “’You must appear strong where you are weak! You must appear far when you are near! You must promise mercy where you intend to take no prisoners! Where the Rebellion marches in the light, you must hide in shadow-‘”_

_Shadow Weaver struck her desk with the wand. The sound roused Adora from her hypnotic recital. She couldn’t shake from her head of the sound of the wand striking Catra’s body._

_“Perfect, as always...” said Shadow Weaver. Even though she was complimenting Adora, her voice sounded faintly disappointed, as if she’d hoped to find something to criticize. “Skip ahead to chapter six, and start with the four tactical zones. Begin.”_

_“Hordak said: a Force Captain distinguishes between neutral zones, entangling zones, choke zones, and killing zones! Territory which is accessible by both sides can be described as neutral! Territory that cannot be retaken without immense casualties is called entangling-’”_

_The wand crashed into the desk again. Adora felt her eyes water._

_“Still too easy…” said Shadow Weaver. Her glowing eyes fell as she considered a more challenging task for Adora._

_Adora tried to stay focused and think Force Captain thoughts, but she remained agonizingly conscious of the fact that, on the spot where she stood, Catra had been beaten down without mercy and left to limp to bed alone and in agony._

_She wondered how much it hurt. Would it break the skin? Would she have a scar afterwards? She imagined trying to hide it in the shower, with everyone laughing at her._

_“Chapter ten!” snapped Shadow Weaver, finally. “The Five Constants of Counter-Rebellion. Begin.”_

_Adora squirmed internally. Not chapter ten. Please not chapter ten. She hadn’t finished reading it, much less memorizing it. It was the last chapter in the Force Captain Primer, and it was big enough to be its own book._

_When Adora began to recite, her voice was slow. Cautious. As if every word put her at risk of serious harm._

_“’Hordak said: If the Rebellion is secure in its position,” she began. “Feign retreat and offer…false promises of surrender until their forces are lured…into…disadvantageous…terrain…”_

_Adora made a quick wincing expression, only for less than a second, but just long enough for Shadow Weaver to notice._

_“If the Rebellion is well-equipped…” Adora continued. She shivered, expecting at any moment to be struck down. “…loot supply-lines and plunder villages until…their strength becomes yours. If the Rebellion is in harmony, disrupt and divide with stealth…agents…until…they are…rendered…”_

_Adora’s voice trailed off into the awkward silence. Shadow Weaver’s gaunt, bloodless fist curled tightly around the wand._

_“You’re not even close to the original text.” said Shadow Weaver, dryly. “What’s the matter with you, child?”_

_“I’m sorry, ma’am!” said Adora, hurriedly. She braced for the impact._

_“I didn’t ask for an apology, I asked for an explanation,” snapped Shadow Weaver. “You recited the Five Constants perfectly yesterday. Has your brain been damaged since we last met?”_

_“No, ma’am!”_

_“Have you been neglecting your reading? Are you getting lazy?”_

_“No, ma’am, I swear!”_

_“Then you must be distracted by something,” said Shadow Weaver. Her glowing eyes flashed with sudden suspicion. “Or someone, perhaps?”_

_It was then that Adora made the mistake of hesitating, which to someone like Shadow Weaver was practically a confession. During the ensuring silence, Adora’s normally pale complexion turned a flushed bright red as her head flooded with sympathy for Catra and pity for herself._

_She prayed that Shadow Weaver could not read her mind. The sorceress would be so disappointed to know that her golden cadet spent 90% of her time being scared, sad, and wishing she was in her bunk cuddling Catra._

_Then, with agonizing slowness, Shadow Weaver bought the end of the wand to Adora’s chin and tipped the cadet’s head up until they were eye-to-eye. Adora held her breath._

_“I...” squeaked Adora. “I’m just…hungry. I missed my evening ration bar.”_

_There was another silence broken only by the sound of machinery in the distance. Shadow Weaver cocked her head to the side with sinister curiosity._

_“You little liar,” said Shadow Weaver. Her voice was stern, but tinged with a hint of amusement. “I refuse to believe you’re that weak. Now tell me the truth, child. My patience wears thin.”_

_Adora looked down at the wand jabbing into her chin. A wave of nausea shook her body and she began to cry. She wanted to get down on her knees and beg for mercy, but she knew Shadow Weaver detested weakness. So Adora stood there, stood to attention, hands clenched behind her back, tears streaming from her baby-blue eyes in unbroken torrents._

_“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, between sobs. “I'll be good. I’ll remember c-chapter ten next time…”_

_Shadow Weaver had been quite unprepared for that kind of response from her golden cadet. She looked at the wand lifting up Adora’s chin, and understood what she was afraid of. The sorceress gave a resigned sigh as she lowered the wand, causing Adora to gasp with relief._

_“Adora…”_

_“I’ll r-remember! I will, I will…” Adora began to shake. “Just give me another chance!”_

_“Adora…”_

_“‘Hordak said: If the R-Rebellion is s-secure in its p-p-position-’”_

_Shadow Weaver knelt down and seized Adora by both arms in a vice-like grip so tight that the flesh of her arm swelled painfully between Weaver’s bony fingers._

_For a brief moment, the sorceress and her golden cadet just stared into each other’s eyes. When Shadow Weaver finally spoke, her voice was a half-whisper, half-growl._

_“You have nothing to fear, Adora,” she began, “I see no reason to hurt you.”_

_“B-But you hurt Catra-”_

_“The things I do to Catra, they’re…” Shadow Weaver’s eyes dropped as she considered how to explain herself to a young child. “They’re not necessary for someone like you. You are obedient, dedicated, hardworking, and Catra is…not.”_

_Adora listened intently. She’d stopped sobbing, but her face was still flushed and streaked with tears._

_“It's not that Catra is unsuccessful..." Shadow Weaver paused. "Well, she is, but that isn't why I have to hurt her. A cadet can be unsuccessful and still be obedient. But Catra refuses to obey. And the worst part? She doesn't believe she’s doing anything wrong. Whenever she breaks the rules, she doesn't feel bad. So it falls to me to make her feel bad, so she realizes all the mistakes she’s making. Do I need to remind you what she did to Octavia?”_

_A chill ran down Adora’s spine. She didn’t need reminding. She could recall the incident with unwelcome clarity. She had no idea an eyeball had that much blood in it._

_“It was very bad of her.” There was a red spark in Shadow Weaver’s eyes. “So I had to make her feel very, very bad. Do you understand? Not because I wanted to. But because I had to. It was the only way to show her how evil she truly is.”_

_Suddenly, for a fraction of a second, Adora wanted to protest. Yes, Catra made mistakes but she wouldn’t have ever called her ‘evil’. ‘Scared’ was a better adjective. But then Adora’s need to please Shadow Weaver rose up and chased the desire to rebel away. So she just nodded._

_“Now, reciting the Force Captain Primer does not decide whether you are good or not. Just whether you’re Force Captain or not. Do you still want to be Force Captain?”_

_Adora nodded again._

_“Do you want to liberate Etheria?”_

_Adora nodded even more urgently._

_“If you failed, how would you feel?”_

_“A-Awful!” cried Adora._

_“See?” Shadow Weaver whispered firmly. “Your head is in the right place, Adora. You do not need to be hurt. You need to be helped. Now, let me put this thing back where it belongs...”_

_The sorceress let go of Adora and floated to a narrow cabinet. She hung the wand in its alcove next to all the other implements she kept there on the rare nights they weren't being used to punish Catra. She was about to close the door when Adora suddenly spoke up._

_"Ma'am? Can I ask you a question?"_

_Shadow Weaver paused. If anyone but Adora had spoken to her without being spoken to first, the sorceress would have been sent into a fury. But she always had more patience for her favorite cadet. She waved her hand, giving Adora unspoken permission to continue._

_“If I taught Catra to be good…” Adora faltered. “…then you wouldn’t have to hurt her, right?”_

_"Of course," replied Shadow Weaver, shutting the door of the cabinet. "But you should set yourself more realistic goals, Adora. Liberating Etheria is one thing, but taming that little animal?” Underneath her mask, a smirk spread across what was left of her mouth. “That task is beyond either of us.”_

_"I still want to try, ma’am.”_

_Adora was terrified to hear Shadow Weaver laugh. It was taunting, hollow, and devoid of happiness._

_“Oh, Adora. Catra doesn’t deserve you,” said Shadow Weaver. “I've seen cadets like her come and go. She’s cannon-fodder. Dead before her second battle. You mustn’t waste your time on her."_

_Adora shuddered. The desire to protest rose again in her throat. The desire to obey Shadow Weaver rose in turn to greet it, but this time it wasn't strong enough, and Adora's rebellious thoughts overflowed between her tightly clenched baby teeth like bile._

_"You can be as kind as you want to Catra, child. It won't make the slightest difference.” Shadow Weaver voice went low. "She'll hurt you."_

_“That’s not true!” cried Adora._

_Adora’s hand clasped tight around her traitorous mouth. But it was too late. The worst part was that Shadow Weaver did not react to her outburst at all beyond a quiet, disappointed sigh. She reached forward, slowly re-opened the cabinet, and pulled out the wand again. Adora watched as the sorceress weighed the implement in her hands._

_“I can tell you regret that, child,” said Shadow Weaver, sadly. "So I am going to be as gentle as possible. Do you know what to do?"_

_Despite her paralyzing fear, Adora nodded. The shadows in the study seemed to close in on her as she walked to the front of Shadow Weaver's desk and bent over without hesitation, afraid to disobey Shadow Weaver any more. She could feel herself whimper as the sorceress floated close behind her._

_"I know, Adora, I know,” said Shadow Weaver. She reached down and braced a gaunt hand against Adora's tiny, shivering back. "It was hard for me to give up on Catra too." She raised the wand. "But you must face reality. You must wake up.”_

_Wake up._

_Wake up._

_WAKE UP._

_W̖͍A̠͈͈̭̘̼̭K̪̫̮E͎̤̝ ̲̤U̝̪̩͇͇͔P̺͖̩̗͓ͅ_

__

Adora opened her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're thinking. "But potboiler! You promised this chapter would have comfort in it!"
> 
> Honestly, this flashback was supposed to be a short intro to the next chapter (which has a little more light relief) but it kind of unfolded into something bigger as I worked on it. Adora's relationship with her ghoulish, abusive 'mother' is a compelling subject and it explains why Adora's head is a mess of survivor guilt and hero complex.


	13. The Squad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content warning: implied child abuse, implied bullying]
> 
> Sometimes those who are finding life tough end up finding each other.

Adora’s eyes stared up, unblinking, caught between unconsciousness and consciousness. 

Her mind was desperate to wake up, to escape the horror of her dream, but her exhausted body fought against it, desperate for sleep. The memory clung to her with the persistence of some horrible parasite with a life of its own. Even though Adora could count the number of times Shadow Weaver had punished her like that on one hand, she could recall each incident in crystal clear detail. The humiliation, the startling pain, then afterwards the voice, like salt on a wound, _“That was for your own good, child.”_

One of the scariest things about Shadow Weaver was that, once you got past the shadowy tendrils, the mind-magic, and the fact she didn't have a face, Shadow Weaver she could be so _patient._ And she could so patient for so long that Adora would lull herself into a sense of security that would always be proven false. The sorceress would treat Adora almost like an equal, and then at the right moment she would turn and re-establish the relationship of superior to inferior with an abrupt act of discipline. And Adora would fall for it every single time. 

The pain she could handle, but the pain was just one part of the greater mental agony of knowing that she was never safe around Shadow Weaver but just floating over some deep abyss of punishment into which the sorceress would drop her at the first sign of disobedience. Her agony was compounded by the helpless, guilty knowledge that Catra had been dropped into that abyss long ago, and that there were depths to Shadow Weaver’s hatred that she as Weaver’s Pet could not even fathom…

Adora swapped between waking and dreaming for what seemed like ages before an unknown voice pulled her back to reality.

“Hello?” it asked. “Are you awake?”

The barracks came into focus around her. She found herself lying in a bunk. Her bunk. Kyle was stood by her bedside, wearing his usual expression of mild concern and discomfort. Adora stared at him groggily. 

“Are you feeling better?” asked Kyle.

Adora held her head in her hands as the events of her morning shower hit her like a murderous hangover. Seven days of starvation drawing her guts into an aching curl. Lonnie’s fight with Catra. Her own exhaustive beatdown from Octavia, and her forthcoming ‘appointment’ with Weaver in the Black Garnet chamber. A groan of despair left Adora’s throat. 

“Okay, maybe not…” said Kyle, meekly. He was already starting to feel awkward. “But you look better. I mean, you’re not paralyzed any more, and the creepy shadow stuff on your skin has gone down a little…” Kyle handed Adora a steel flask engraved with crimson Horde insignia and gave an optimistic smile. “And we got canteens! Shadow Weaver didn’t say we couldn’t drink, right?”

Adora suddenly rose up, ignoring the screams of protest from her abused muscles, and grabbed the canteen from Kyle’s hands. She emptied it down her throat in a long, unbroken swig. 

Sweet relief. Water was no substitute for real food, but it was cold and softened the rasp in her throat and tricked her stomach into feeling full, if only for a little while.

Once the last few drops had been coaxed out of the flask, Adora fell back into the bunk. She was amazed at how comfy it felt. Suspiciously comfy, in fact. 

Adora felt around and discovered she had not one but four blankets. Two covering her, one wrapped around her body, and another one scrunched up under her head to serve as a pillow. Her body was dry and clad in a fresh Horde cadet uniform. Her hair had been put neatly back in a ponytail. Somebody had taken very good care of her. 

She looked up at Kyle, and noted his fresh uniform. Kyle noticed her noticing. 

“Um, we didn’t know what to do, so we just carried you here,” Kyle began. He gestured over his lanky shoulders. “Catra’s the one who cleaned you up.” 

Adora looked over to see Catra sat brooding in the corner of the barracks, curled up so tight that her knees were level with her shoulders. Adora was alarmed. She had braced herself for Catra to be crying or shouting but Catra didn’t seem to be moving at all. She just faced the wall with her wet hair drawn over her eyes. 

“She’s been like this since she finished dressing you,” Kyle continued, shooting a nervous glance at Catra. “I’ve never seen her like this. She won’t talk, won’t move, and when I asked if she was okay, and she didn’t even tell me to go fuck myself.” 

Kyle and Adora both shared looks of concern for their squad-mate. If Catra didn’t even have the spirit to verbally abuse Kyle, something must be very, very wrong. 

“You can make her better, can’t you?” asked Kyle, quietly, as if he was afraid someone might hear. “You were always good at making Catra…better.”

An awkward silence ensued. Kyle waited for Adora to respond, even though he knew Adora couldn’t talk after biting her tongue. Kyle wasn’t used to starting conversations, especially not with Adora. Most of the ‘conversations’ the two squad-mates shared had been screamed across the battle simulator, and even then, they were pretty one-sided orders like “Kyle, stop hiding in the corner!”, and “Kyle, stop screaming and help me kick this bot’s butt!” 

The silence persisted, broken only by the eerie red lights that buzzed above their heads. 

“So…” murmured Kyle, gripping the side of the bed as he wracked his brain for an excuse to change the subject. “Want some more…water?”

Adora rolled her eyes and handed him the canteen.

Kyle accepted the flask and the opportunity to leave with gratitude. He turned around and almost bumped into Lonnie, who was walking up behind him. Lonnie was wrapping a bandage around the spot where one of her dreadlocks had been torn out during the riot.

“Watch your ass, Kyle.” sneered Lonnie, elbowing him as he hurried past.

“S-Sorry...”

Lonnie watched Kyle leave, then threw a stern glance towards Adora, who returned it with a feeble grin. 

“Oh, great,” said Lonnie, flatly. “You’re not dead.”

Adora’s baby-blue stare challenged Lonnie’s unflinching, beady-eyed glare. 

“You know, Adora, I can’t tell if you’re really brave, or just really, really stupid.” said Lonnie. She tied off the bandage, which sat across her forehead like a bandanna. “Which do you think you are?”

Adora stared into space for a while, then shrugged.

Lonnie sighed, but Adora noticed a warm smile tickling the edge of her lips. Lonnie was fighting to maintain her constant state of hard-jawed contempt, but she couldn’t hide her appreciation for Adora. 

“You didn’t have to fight Octavia, Adora. I had things under control,” said Lonnie. “Alright, maybe I was in trouble,” she added, catching Adora’s doubting expression. “But you could’ve gotten killed, Adora. And you’re not something this squad can afford to lose.”

The two cadets shared a warm moment together, an event which was extremely rare in the Fright Zone, before Lonnie's expression darkened.

“I heard Weaver talking to you in the showers,” said Lonnie. “Don’t suppose it was to say that she’d removed us from the rations blacklist?”

Adora shook her head.

“Figures,” said Lonnie, scowling. She gave a deep sigh. “You’re a lot closer to Weaver than we are, Adora. Has she even been this bad before?”

 _Not to me,_ thought Adora, guiltily.

“Does she still want you in the Black Garnet Chamber?”

A single nod was Adora’s only response. 

Lonnie looked down for a moment, and when she looked back up, Adora was alarmed to see Lonnie’s eyes were glistening slightly. She leaned in close and whispered. “I can’t help you,” she said. 

“I have a duty to obey Shadow Weaver. You understand? Maybe you can disobey her and survive, but I’m not that lucky. One step out of line and I’m dead meat, and that means the others are dead meat too. Rogelio will spend the rest of his life hauling munitions until his spine breaks; Kyle will get transferred to another squadron who will probably beat him to death; and Catra will…” 

Lonnie couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence, but her and Adora shared a moment of unspoken understanding. They both knew Catra’s will to live was at stake. 

“Look, just promise me, fucking _promise_ me that you’re finished with this hero crap.” Lonnie’s eyes glowered at Adora. “Don’t stand up for anyone. Don’t sacrifice yourself. Don’t even leave this fucking dorm. A mark on your attendance record is better than risking disobeying Shadow Weaver again. Just lay there and get better and whatever happens in the Black Garnet Chamber, we’ll ride it out. Deal?” 

She held out her hand for Adora to shake, which she did. Lonnie’s grip was tight and unforgiving, but warm to the touch. Like Lonnie herself. 

“Good,” said Lonnie. A flicker of relief was visible across her otherwise stressed-out face, then she clapped her hands together. “Alright, squad meeting!”

Rogelio gave an alarmed growl.

“What?” said Kyle, who paused in the middle of refilling Adora’s canteen. “What’s going on?”

“You heard me, boys,” said Lonnie. “Squad meeting.”

“We’ve never had a squad meeting before,” said Kyle. 

“Yeah, because we’ve never had to deal with this much _bullshit_ before,” replied Lonnie, curtly. “Can you get up, Adora?”

Adora was surprised to find she could move her limbs with ease. But when she tried to sit up, the result was an agonising bolt of pain from her belly bad enough to squeeze tears out of her eyes. It was as if she had a million shards of shrapnel in the bottom of her stomach, and they all rattled around when she moved. Octavia really had stomped her good.

“Okay, okay,” said Lonnie. “You just stay put. Everybody just gather round Adora’s bunk. This concerns all of you morons.” Lonnie shot a glance at Catra. “I said _all_ of you morons.”

Catra said nothing. She remained huddled. 

“Suit yourself,” snapped Lonnie. Her tone dropped into an angry mutter. “This is just dumb. Adora’s tongue is chewed up, Rogelio can’t speak mammal, Catra’s giving me the silent treatment. Is there anyone in this squad I can talk with?”

“Me?” said Kyle, hopefully. 

“Shut up, Kyle.”

Adora watched as the Horde Squad gathered around her. Kyle sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at them with his hollow, sleepy eyes. Rogelio crouched down to be at eye-level with his smaller squad-mates; his big green claws braced against the upper bunk for balance. Lonnie paced back and forth irritably. Her large, heavily shined combat boots clomped on the metal floor. 

“Seven days,” Lonnie pressed her knuckles into her cramping stomach. “Seven days and not a single ration bar. We must be close to dying now, right?”

“Actually, we can survive much longer than a week without food,” ventured Kyle. 

“Bullshit,” spat Lonnie.

“No, it’s true!” said Kyle, defensively. “Just as long as we get water.”

Lonnie’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “How would you know that, Kyle?”

“People have been stealing my food since…” Kyle got a distant look in his eyes. “…always, I guess. I got a lot of starving experience.”

“Well, then what’s the longest time you went without a ration bar?”

“Twelve days,” said Kyle, without hesitation. 

A silent moment passed. Lonnie refused to show sympathy to Kyle as a matter of principle. It wasn’t her fault that the strong took from the weak. That was just a fact of Horde life. But she couldn’t hide the concern in her voice when she said, “How did you feel after that?”

“I could move.” said Kyle. “I mean, it hurt to move, but…yeah.”

“Well, in that case…” announced Lonnie, trying to hide her discomfort. Her eyes brightened as she opted for a change of subject. “I guess that means we go to work as usual.”

Rogelio rolled his eyes and growled irritably. Kyle put his head in his hands and groaned.

For a moment, Lonnie felt the urge to whine alongside her squad-mates. She felt a tired dread at the prospect of another working day spent feeble with hunger and trauma.

There would be simulating asskickings in the battle sim, followed by real-life asskickings in the training duels. Then there would be one battle tank after another to be cleaned, then crate after crate to be unloaded, and scolding after scolding to be endured from any officer who took exception to the state of their uniform. Not that the Horde squad feared officers anymore. After experiencing Weaver’s nightmare-inducing discipline, a dressing-down from an officer seemed like sweet respite. 

But Lonnie wasn’t going to let the absence of morale go unchallenged. 

“What, did you guys just forget we're in the Horde?” asserted Lonnie. “We go from one mission to the next. We do our duty. It doesn't matter if Shadow Weaver's messing with us or the Rebellion's breaking down the fucking door. We do our duty, no muss, no fuss.”

Her words of encouragement were met with further moans. Rogelio pulled his shirt up over his head as if trying to shut out the outside world. 

“You cowards!” Lonnie protested. “People are counting on us! The Horde is at war! That means everybody has to do their bit. If all of our soldiers just took the day off whenever they felt like it, the princesses would invade the Fright Zone and eat us for breakfast!”

“Please don’t talk about eating…” said Kyle, clutching his empty stomach. 

“Suck it up, Kyle,” scolded Lonnie. “You too, Rogelio. The only one who’s got the right to complain right now is Adora. She’s going to be pissing blood because of Octavia, and I don’t even want to _think_ about what Shadow Weaver’s cooking up for her in the Black Garnet Chamber.”

Adora flushed as her squad-mates looked down at her. She did not feel comfortable about being used as an example of weakness, but Lonnie’s words were effective. Adora could see an unspoken desire to impress their wannabe-Force-Captain leader stirring Kyle and Rogelio into action. 

“Okay...” said Kyle, sulking. “But you know we’ll get our butts kicked without Adora on our side.”

“No way,” said Lonnie, cracking her knuckles with a confident smirk. “I’ll still be on your team.”

“Yeah, but you’re not as strong as-” 

Rogelio’s scaly hand clapped over Kyle’s mouth just in time, preventing his tiny boyfriend from committing suicide. Lonnie eyed Kyle suspiciously, then turned away.

The Horde Squad prepared for battle. They checked their dull grey and blood red uniforms for imperfections. They laced up their jackboots. They tried to emulate the precise, wordless discipline of veteran Horde soldiers even though they were scared, starving kids. Adora’s eyes never left Catra. She waited in aching anticipation to see a flick of her tail, or a quick glance over her shoulder, or anything to suggest her kitten was aware of her. But there was nothing. 

As Lonnie shined her jackboots for the sixteenth time, Rogelio reached down and tapped her on the shoulder with a gentle claw. When she glared up at him, he pointed towards Catra, who was still hunched at the far end of the room.

“No, Rogelio,” whispered Lonnie. “Catra can’t come. Are you crazy?”

Rogelio merely went on pointing and gave a hopeful growl. 

“Knock it off!” snapped Lonnie. “Even if she wanted to come with us, which she _doesn't_ , she’s no good in a battle sim.”

“Didn’t you say she saved you in the shower rooms?” asked Kyle, his sleepy eyes flashing skeptically. “From, like, a dozen rival cadets?”

Lonnie smacked her forehead. “Oh, Kyle. It’s like you _want_ me to pummel you.”

“But she did, didn’t she?” Kyle persisted. 

After fixing Kyle with a death-glare, Lonnie glanced up into Rogelio’s face. It was amazing how much the lizard-boy could communicate through a single glance. This one seemed to say: “You’re not fooling anybody, Lonnie.”

“Fine, Catra did put up a good fight,” said Lonnie, her face creased with reluctance as she was forced to concede compliments to a girl she otherwise loathed. “And that ‘drop through the vent’ entrance was totally badass. But she was just doing that to save Adora. She doesn’t give a shit about us.” Lonnie raised her voice. “Isn’t that right, Catra?”

The Horde Squad turned to face Catra. Adora burned with the unspoken hope that Catra might suddenly spring to life and deny Lonnie’s allegation with a snappy comeback. But the magicat just sat there. Back turned. Silent. 

Lonnie pouted as her heart once again flooded with unwelcome sympathy. Picking on Catra was no fun when she was genuinely sad. 

They finished suiting up in silence. As the squad prepared to leave, Lonnie turned to face Adora.

“We’re locking the door behind us,” she began. “You’re not leaving until it’s time to go to Shadow Weaver. So get comfy, and make sure _that…_ ” Lonnie indicated Catra’s tightly huddled form. “…stays _here._ ” Lonnie indicated the barracks. “No more surprise ventilator ambushes. No more stolen painkillers. No more angry Force Captains. Just keep her in your sight.” Lonnie gave a melancholy smirk. "Besides, you guys deserve some alone time..."

She turned away, and stepped into the hallway outside. The automatic door dropped like the blade of a guillotine, and Adora and Catra were left alone together. 

Outside, Lonnie rested her aching, bandaged forehead on the cold metal door. She was disgusted at herself, feeling all sympathetic for her squad-mates. The Horde had raised Lonnie with the conviction that emotions were a Princessy extravagance that had to be pushed down deep inside. But Lonnie found that the effort of suppressing her sadness just made her even sadder. It was so frustrating.

After a moment of silence, she rounded on Kyle.

“For Horde's sake, Kyle!" she exclaimed, cuffing him on the shoulder. "Twelve days without food? Why didn't you say something?"

“I’m sorry!” said Kyle, staring at the ground. “It was a long time ago, it's alright…”

“No, it's not alright! Why didn’t you say someone was stealing your ration bars?”

Kyle writhed uncomfortably. “Because sometimes you were the one…stealing them…”

Once again, Kyle’s response had snuffed Lonnie’s anger. Her lip curled with indignation. “That’s different. I’m your squad-mate. It’s my Horde-given right to pick on you. I’ve earned it by saving your sorry ass so many times. But if anybody else does it, you tell me and I bust their lip open. Got it?”

“I got it,” said Kyle, staring at the ground. "Thanks." he added, blushing.

The Horde Squad filed into the river of cadets proceeding to their daily training. Then Lonnie, who was suddenly gripped with horror as she realized she'd been _nice_ to Kyle, restored balance to the Horde Squad by giving Kyle a noogie all the way to the battle simulator.

* * *

Adora was worried. She did not like how quiet Catra was being. She didn’t like it _at all._

The girl who was full of energy even when she was being beaten by her own squadron was now almost totally inanimate. It was as if someone had reached inside Catra and switched her off. Her mane hung in wet, straggly curtains around her head, totally obscuring her face.

In the years they'd spent together, Adora had learned that sometimes Catra needed to be alone. She would spend an hour sulking and hissing on the top bunk and Adora would know better than to force her out. Sooner or later, Catra would come around, and Adora would make sure to keep the bottom bunk warm for her. But Adora knew this time it was too much. Catra was trying to pull herself back together and she just couldn't. She needed help.

Adora pulled herself reluctantly from the blanket-nest Catra had prepared for her and started to walk. Her bruised stomach punished her for every step and the joints in her legs threatened to buckle at any moment, but Adora preserved and did not stop until she was on her knees in front of her bunk-mate. 

Catra didn't respond. Her arms were limp by her sides. Her ears hung flat. Only the sound of her slow, exhausted breaths indicated she was even alive.

It was hard for Adora to resist the urge to fling herself forward and embrace Catra. The poor, tired magicat looked like she might shatter into pieces the moment they touched. So Adora just reached up and very gently brushed away the stringy hair from Catra’s face.

Two bright, mismatched eyed stared out at Adora from the depths of her huddle. Adora smiled as she realized that Catra’s eyes hadn’t dimmed in the slightest. But Catra did not smile back. 

“Hey, Adora,” she said, in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Hay-Cat-Ruh.” replied Adora, wincing in pain as the act of talking stretched open the bite-mark on her tongue. Her injury made it impossible to speak in anything but clumsy monosyllables. 

“Don’t talk,” begged Catra. “Please. Don’t hurt yourself anymore.” Catra’s eyes fell. “I already know what you want to say. You’re trying to say it’s not my fault. Because you’re a nice person, and that’s a thing nice people say.” Catra looked up again. “But it’s not true, is it? All of this is my fault.”

Adora was shocked. She had not expected Catra to be so...articulate. 

“I know you chose to sacrifice yourself,” Catra continued. “But you shouldn’t have to do that. Not for anybody. Especially not me.” She stared ahead, eyes unblinking. “Force Captains don’t sacrifice themselves for cannon fodder. That’s not the way it should be. You should have just beaten me, Adora. Nobody would have blamed you. But no, for some fucking reason, you had to go and love me.” 

Adora's fists clenched, but she couldn't bring herself to interrupt. 

“I’m not worth this, Adora. Shadow Weaver and I have this thing between each other, and it means she’s gonna punish me no matter what I do. But she _respects_ you, Adora,” Catra whimpered. “If I had Shadow Weaver’s respect, I’d hold on to it like my life depended on it, because it _does_ , Adora, it fucking _does._ And you risked it. And for what?” A little tear streaked down Catra’s ashen face. “To protect a stupid, disgusting animal.”

Adora forced down the searing lump in her throat as she listened to Catra beat herself up. She could have hugged Catra then, but she chose to listen. Catra needed more than comfort. She needed someone to understand her.

“Last night, you said you love me more than I love myself,” Catra took a deep, shuddering breath. “You’re right. You’re so, so right. But you don’t get it. You don’t get how it feels to be loved by someone like you when you’re someone like me. How can I not love you more than myself Adora? It’s not stupid, it just makes so much sense. Look at you. You’re a beautiful and brilliant and I...” 

More tears rolled down Catra’s face. She didn’t wipe them. She just stared.

“I just hurt things, Adora. I hurt people because they hurt me and it makes them hurt me more and it just goes on and on and on and on and now I’ve hurt you,” Catra sniffled. “I let her hurt you so much I thought you were gonna die. And then I felt like I wanted to die. I was so desperate to make you feel better that I robbed the infirmary, but I just made things even fucking worse," She began to uncurl from her huddle. "That’s how it’s always been with me, Adora. Gimme something to take away pain, and I’ll use it to make more pain. Gimme something good, and I’ll make it bad. Love me, and I’ll hurt you.”

Then Adora hugged her. Catra tensed as warmth enveloped her body, then closed her eyes and melted into Adora’s arms. 

She buried her face into Adora’s shoulder as her cries grew into heavy sobs until finally the floodgates in Catra’s mind burst open and a week of starving anguish manifested itself as unrestrained bawling. Howls came roaring out of Catra’s lungs like heat from a furnace and muffled themselves in Adora’s shoulder until it was streaked with scalding hot tears.

Each shuddering, heaving sob flung Catra deeper into Adora’s embrace, and Adora accepted her openly and warmly with quiet sobs of her own. She held Catra and squeezed her tight, not caring that it set her bruised stomach on fire. She pressed Catra close to her as if she could absorb all her kitten’s sadness and pain into herself. She wanted to absorb it. She wanted to take it away. All of it. Adora was beaten and exhausted and scared for the future, but for Catra she would make herself invincible.

Catra placed herself at Adora's mercy, as limp and helpless as a kitten in her arms. There was no mistaking the muffled howls of anguish, but Adora could sense the utter relief in Catra's cries. She'd been waiting for this a long, long time. Adora gently shushed into Catra's ears, recollecting with aching guilt how cold and distant she'd acted to Catra last night, when Shadow Weaver's eyes were upon them both.

All at once, Adora realized: Shadow Weaver isn't here. There was no reason to censor herself. She could feel again. She could feel Catra's heart beating against her own, and Catra's body return to life in her gentle, squeezing embrace. For the first time in ages, Adora was no longer grappling with her emotions but giving into them.

Slowly, and with utmost care, Adora ran one of her hands from the nape of Catra’s neck to the base of her tail, again and again, sending her love into the welted, abused skin. Catra winced but let Adora stroke her. She trusted her. She trusted her like when she was six and got her tail crushed under an older cadet’s boot and, instead of going to the infirmary, she scrambled from one end of the Fright Zone to another until she found Adora. Because Adora always made her feel better. Always. 

Catra cried until she was exhausted, then slowly pushed herself away from Adora so she could stare up with half-closed eyes misty with lovesick tears at her beloved bunk-mate, the wannabe-Force-Captain and the Weaver's Pet who'd risked it all just to make her happy.

“I don’t understand...” Catra murmured hoarsely. “Please, Adora, I don’t understand…am I really worth all this pain?"

Adora leaned forward and kissed Catra on the lips.

“Okay,” said Catra, savoring the taste of Adora. She began to purr. “I guess I’ll take your word for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it took like three months, but I finally got to the comfort part of this hurt/comfort fic. I really hope I've made it worth your time. You deserve it.


	14. The Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content warning: death, eye horror, psychological abuse]
> 
> This chapter has the most overt, disturbing act of violence I've written so far, but also the most cuddles. So read at your own risk. 
> 
> SERIOUS NOTE: I know there's some dark stuff going on in the outside world so if you're feeling scared, give this chapter a skip and go read some nice, pure catradora fluff. You deserve it.

_  
The Shadow lent over the bench like a surgeon. There was someone chained to it, clad in bright white robes._

_The girl crouched down behind her. Unseen. Silent. Scared. She wasn’t supposed to be here._

_The Shadow raised her hand. Angry whispers filled the air as the room glowed blood-red. On the table, a pale, half-alive face looked up blinking into the light. It was a man. A young man. The girl clutched her shirt in alarm at the sight of him._

_“Who sent you?” hissed the Shadow. "Speak!"_

_“…nobody…”_

_“Who are you?”_

_“...I am...nobody...”_

_"You are a Mystacor acolyte, yes?” The Shadow's eyes narrowed with hatred. "You probably thought they'd make sorcerer if you defeated me." There was a mirthless chuckle from the depths of the Shadow. "I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing. But your journey was not in vain. I need someone to guide Hordak to the gates of the Guild, and I no longer know the way..._

_The girl was vaguely aware that the man had begun to shiver. It was hard to see anything in the darkness, but she could hear his breath quicken. He was afraid._

_“It would be sensible to speak voluntarily," said the Shadow. "You know what I will do to you otherwise."_

_The man’s eyes rolled up to where red light cast flickering shadows on the walls and ceiling. The shadows were looking back at him with hungry, empty stares._

_The girl quivered when she saw how scared the man looked. She wanted to cry, but she didn't want to imagine what would happen if the Shadow heard her, so she held her breath, hoping that through sheer willpower alone she could turn invisible or teleport back to her bunk._

_"You persist in silence?" said the Shadow. "Very well." She waved her spidery hand, her pale fingertips leaving short-lived crimson traces in the air. Then she was whispering something, chanting in a language the girl could not understand._

_The chant bought the darkness to life._

_The girl saw them descend, saw them crawl and slither towards the man in a mass of monstrous silhouettes._

_She thought the Shadow just wanted to restrain the man. Bind him with tendrils of red-edged darkness as the girl had seen her do countless times to countless others. But she didn't._

_The darkness went into his eyes._

_The girl watched the tendrils plunge clean into the man’s eye-sockets. His head slumped and his jaw distended in silent, quivering horror. The shadows jerked his head from side to side as if searching the inside of his skull like carrion-feeders. He started to choke, loudly, sending flecks of foam over his white robes._

_He’s trying to scream, the girl realized. He’s trying to scream, but he can’t._

_The girl tried to move, but she couldn’t run. She couldn’t turn away. But she could still scream, and she did. She covered her face and screamed till her throat was raw._

_The young girl’s wail jerked the Shadow out of her trance. Her spectral eyes blazed in shock as she saw the girl. She waved and there was a rushing sound as the dark tendrils obediently returned to the wall, losing their tenebrous size and shape until they were two-dimensional once more. The man fell to the table, gasping, breathless with agony._

_The girl just stood there, hyperventilating._

_“What are you doing here?” demanded the Shadow. Her voice shook the walls._

_The girl said nothing._

_“I told you never to disturb me! Never!”_

_The girl said nothing. The small part of her mind that still functioned was surprised. She hadn't expected pure fear to feel so...empty._

_“Cadet?” repeated the Shadow. There was a sudden uncertainty to her voice. “Answer me!”_

_The robed man on the table began to stir. His head tilted to the side and he started to talk._

_“Help…” he whispered. “…help…”_

_The girl looked up and her baby-blue eyes met the prisoner’s face. His eyes were gone. There were just gouged holes now. Blood ran from them like dark, oily tears._

_“…help…me…”_

_The girl saw a bolt of red fury earth itself in the man’s body. She watched him twitch until there was no man on the table at all. Just a corpse._

_The girl's eyes rolled up and saw the Shadow with her arm still livid with lingering death-magic. The girl and the Shadow stared at each-other in silence, and when the Shadow finally spoke, her voice held the promise of pain unless it was obeyed._

_“Leave. Forget what you have seen."_

  


* * *

  


Adora rose from the darkness of sleep. Or at least tried to. The shadows clung to her mind like chains, pulling her back into the nightmare. As she fought for consciousnesses, her half-dreaming eyes perceived angry masks and eyeless faces in the dark, empty corners of the room. 

Then she looked down, saw Catra nuzzled deep in her chest, and sighed with relief. The world returned to normal. 

_Just a dream,_ she thought to herself, as Catra’s purring warmed her to the core. _Just a dream. Just a bad...dream..._

She watched Catra sleep for a while. Watched her thin chest rise and fall with her gentle breaths. Watched her ears twitch. Watched the faint trace of a smile appear around her mouth. 

Catra was no longer the cold, catatonic mess she’d been in the morning. Not after Adora had got her hands on her. The first thing she did was towel off Catra’s mane till it got its floof back, then slip her into fresh clothes (making a mental note to incinerate the ripped-up uniform Catra had been beaten in later) and take her gently under the blankets for some much-needed rest. 

It was awkward at first. Fright Zone bunk-beds were just steel surfaces, most likely reused munitions shelving, that were not particularly kind on the bodies of bruised-up cadets. But even a bunk made out of metal could be soft when you shared it with Catra. And after everything Catra had been through, Adora had been more than happy to serve as a pillow. 

This had been an outstandingly painful week, even by Fright Zone standards, and Adora feared it was only going to get worse once she got to the Black Garnet Chamber. But for the time Adora spent snuggled with Catra it was possible to pretend everything was going to be alright.

Adora tipped her head back into the blanket and sighed again. The barracks were silent. All the other bunks were empty. In the walls, the sleepless machines of the Fright Zone hummed. 

_Everyone must still be at battle sims,_ thought Adora, _and here I am, sleeping till…_

She peered down at the digital clock on the side of the bunk, blinking the glowing numbers into focus. They were jagged and lit up with threatening crimson light. In the Fright Zone, even the clocks had to look threatening. 

It read 12:47.

_Wow, I slept till noon. Haven’t done that in…forever, actually._

Adora felt a twinge of guilt at her own truancy. But then her thoughts took a turn for the rebellious.

_You know what? Fuck battle sims. Fuck training. Fuck Force Captainship. Fuck Hordak. Fuck Shadow Weaver. Me and Catra should stay in and do this every day._

Adora tensed. She became afraid to think, as if Shadow Weaver could somehow sense her insubordinate thoughts and would materialize out of thin air to drag her out of bed and straight to the Black Garnet Chamber. She wasn’t sure if mind-reading was among Shadow Weaver’s formidable repertoire of magical powers, but she wouldn’t have been surprised if it was. It was hard to keep secrets from a sorceress. 

Her empty stomach tensed. She was becoming nervous. Her eyes kept returning to the shadows in the corner of the barracks. 

It was funny. There had always been shadows in the barracks. But somehow these shadows seemed…darker. 

She stared at them. For some reason, she felt that something terrible might happen if she looked away. 

_This is stupid,_ thought the sensible half of Adora’s mind, _Shadow Weaver doesn’t own the darkness. She can’t be everywhere at once. What am I so scared of?_

But the other half of Adora’s mind, the half that made her curl up and shiver with dread in the middle of the night, thought the shadows were moving closer…

Unable to tear her eyes away, Adora decided to wake up Catra. She reached up and carefully stroked the sensitive silvery tufts framing Catra’s face with the back of her hand. The magicat purred louder and tilted her head into the strokes to encourage her. Adora sighed with pleasure. Catra was a joy to touch.

When she was around other cadets, Catra was about as approachable as a fully-revved chainsaw. Anyone who touched her had to be prepared to lose a hand. But around Adora, Catra was a real cuddle-bug. She didn’t just tolerate Adora’s touch. She asked for it. She couldn’t get enough of it. Adora remembered spending idle evenings scratching Catra’s ears when they were very young. Whenever she withdrew her hand, Catra would fix her with an unblinking glare of furious betrayal and pat herself on the head until Adora got the message and resumed the scritches. 

Why did Catra like being touched so much? Adora assumed all that fur got itchy. But why did Catra like being touched by _her_ so much? Adora supposed it was trust. 

Catra could let herself be vulnerable in front of Adora. She gave her bunkmate opportunities to hurt her because, deep down, Catra knew Adora never would.

Normally, whenever someone had the opportunity to hurt Catra, they seized it without hesitation. So Catra made sure they never got that chance. She spent every waking hour with her claws out, her teeth bared, and her mind teeming with venomous insults to spit at anyone who so much as looked at her wrong. It was Catra's unspoken philosophy that it was better to make enemies than risk being betrayed by someone you thought was an ally.

Nobody ever saw Catra relax, much less purr. It was a treat she reserved just for Adora, and that was cause for joy and concern in equal measure. The possibility that she might be the only one in the Fright Zone who Catra trusted was frightening to Adora. It was a big responsibility. But, Adora realized, as she lent down and kissed the crown of Catra’s forehead, responsibility could come with sweet perks attached. 

Catra’s freckled nose wriggled. Her glowing, mismatched eyes slowly opened. “Hey Adora…” she said, and tried to clear her throat. “Wow, it h-hurts to talk. I must have cried a lot…”

Adora nodded in agreement. Catra had probably wept out most of the water in her body onto her shoulder. Adora uprooted her arms from the blanket-nest and grabbed a canteen. She bought it to Catra’s parched lips and let her take a long, grateful drink. 

When she was finished, Catra licked her lips and shot a pouting glance up at Adora. “You don’t have to bottle-feed me,” she said. “I’m not your baby.”

 _Yeah, you are,_ thought Adora, with a smile. She placed the canteen down and nuzzled deeper into the blankets. She wanted to fall asleep in Catra’s arms while she still had the chance…

But when Adora finally lowered her eyelids, she sensed movement in the corner of the barracks. Her eyes reopened with a start. She couldn’t get the idea out of her head that the shadows were moving closer. 

“What’s the matter?” said Catra, sensing Adora’s muscles clench around hers.

Adora said nothing. She couldn’t have spoken even if she wanted to, but she didn’t even shrug or nod. 

“You hungry?”

Adora frowned. She was hungry, but that wasn’t the only thing tying her guts into knots at the moment. 

“Okay, you can act tough if you want," said Catra, blowing a tuft of hair away from her face. “But you can’t fool me. Your heart tells me the whole story.” She pressed her cheek up against Adora’s chest and closed her eyes. “It’s beating so fast. You’ve been having nightmares, haven’t you?”

Adora nodded slowly.

“I knew it,” mumbled Catra, nuzzling Adora again. Then Catra’s warm voice chilled with fear. “It’s the Black Garnet…”

The two cadets exchanged glances. They saw the same fear reflected in each other’s eyes. 

“It doesn’t just mess up your body, does it?” Catra continued. “It messes up your head. Makes your dreams all freaky. Makes them feel real, like…memories…”

For a while they both kept silent, embarrassed to be clinging to each other while discussing nightmares like frightened kids. Technically speaking they still were kids, but it was a belief held by all Horde child-soldiers that anyone who wasn’t a stone-cold veteran by puberty was a weakling, a wuss, and worst of all, a Kyle.

Then Catra, in a quiet, hollow voice, whispered into Adora’s ear.

“Last week, when I was in the cells, I had a lot of weird dreams. Which makes sense, I didn’t have much to do except, well, sleep until Shadow Weaver came in to…you know…” Catra faltered. As if on cue, the bruises on her back stated to sting again.

“A lot of the dreams were about escaping. Mostly with you. Like, you’d show up riding a skiff or a tank and we’d ride it into the setting moon…” Catra chuckled weakly. “This one time, I dreamed you cut a hole in the wall with a giant sword. You just sliced, like, an Adora-shaped entrance with a huge, glowing blade, then you picked me up over your shoulder and carried me away.” 

Catra’s eyes watered. “It sounds like the stupidest thing, I know. But when I woke up, I started to cry. I wanted it to be real so bad…“

Suddenly, Catra grasped Adora’s hand and squeezed hard enough to turn her knuckles white. 

“Promise me you’re real, Adora.” said Catra. There was a desperate, begging edge to her voice. “Promise me I’m not dreaming you. Please, just promise me…”

Adora sat in silence for a moment. Then she gently kissed Catra’s neck, placing her lips on the soft, warm skin, hoping to convince Catra that just because she was happy and safe for once did not mean she was dreaming. 

But Catra just shivered. “You did this in the dream, too,” she said. She closed her eyes. “You told me you were real, but it was a lie. No matter how real you felt, you always left me. I always ended up back in the cell...”

As beads of fresh tears formed in Catra's eyes, Adora knew this called for desperate measures. She reached deep inside the blanket-nest and tickled the magic spot above the base of Catra’s tail. The effect was like lightning. Catra grew tense as steel wire before she gave up and dissolved into Adora’s arms. 

“Adoraaa…” purred Catra, trying to suppress her giddy smile. “…stoopp…”

 _No way,_ thought Adora, as she kept up the merciless tickles. _Is this real enough for you, Catra?_

Catra mewled and writhed lovingly in Adora's grasp until she suddenly bared her teeth and hissed. “I said _stop_ , you moron!” she roared.

The bunk became a flurry of angry limbs. When the blankets settled, Catra had Adora pinned down like a rat. Adora laid still on her back, hands raised, totally submissive. She returned Catra’s predatory death-glare with a weak, apologetic grin. 

"Soh-ree," said Adora, in a small voice. It has hard to speak through her mangled tongue.

Then Catra’s searing gaze fell. Her claws left Adora’s shoulders and she crawled to the other end of the bunk and sat cross-legged opposite her bunkmate.

“I’m sorry too,” said Catra. "It's just..." She took a deep breath, and let the words tumble out. “I just feel like there's no way we can do this and not get punished, like, _permanently_ punished, and I feel like Weaver's messing with my head again and at any moment now I'll pinch myself and wake up and I'll be back getting..."

Catra left her sentence hanging. Their eyes met again. Then, slowly, without breaking eye contact, Adora’s hands leapt forward and smooshed Catra’s cheeks in a way that made her look chubby. Catra tried and failed to suppress her laughter as Adora gently pinched her freckled face.

“Okay, okay, I haven't woken up yet…” said Catra. "So I guess this is real." She gave a muffled sigh. "We really should get some sleep..."

Adora rubbed little circles into the sides of Catra's head until her jaw unclenched and a purr rose in her throat again. Then they drew each-other back underneath the blankets and were both asleep within less than a minute.

  


* * *

  


_"You trespassed, child," hissed the Shadow. "You saw something you were not supposed to see. Now you could at least have the decency to forget it."_

_"I h-have," stammered the girl. "I swear, I have..."_

_"Your body betrays you, child. You haven't slept. You haven't eaten. You have slackened in your studies, and now you're just as bad as that filthy little beast," The Shadow's eyes narrowed. "A Force Captain would witness death a thousand times over and think nothing of it. Yet you have allowed that man's death to weigh heavily on your mind. I thought you were stronger than this."_

_"I am," protested the girl, as calmly as she could manage. "I just...need some time to think."_

_"You don't need to think. You need to obey. I am your superior. I have ordered you to forget. Now forget."_

_"I want to!" cried the girl. In her head, she saw the man dying over and over again. She saw his eyeless face every time she closed her eyes. "I want to but I can't!"_

_"You can't, or you won't?"_

_The girl's eyes clenched shut but there was no stopping the outflow of tears. Her face contorted as she broke down crying, babbling 'I can't, I can't, I can't...'_

_The Shadow watched in disgust and disdain, but amidst the cold, pitiless wasteland of her mind there was a spark of pity for the girl._

_"I have given you the chance to forget on your own terms, child," said the Shadow, quietly. "But if you can't do it yourself, I shall do it for you."_

_The girl backed away, eyes wide with terror, but the darkness rose up and delivered her into the Shadow's grasp._

_"Hush," whispered the Shadow, as the girl struggled uselessly in her arms. Her fingertips glowed crimson again, and the girl's struggles became wild thrashing._

_"Don't take my eyes!" cried the girl. "Please! I'll be good! I'll forget about Mystacor! And acolytes! I'll forget everything!" ___

_"You will, you will," whispered the Shadow. "You always do. I make sure of it..."_

_The girl ended her struggles, and turned her watering baby-blue eyes up at the Shadow. "Just...make it so it doesn't hurt...please..." ___

__

__

_The Shadow was silent for a moment. Then she spoke._

_"Why?"_

_Silence fell. The girl felt like her soul had been ripped from her body._

_"It won't make any difference." said the Shadow. Her voice was casual, as if she were discussing something boring and mundane. "Pain or no pain, you won't remember a thing. It will be as if it never happened. Like a bad dream..."_

  


* * *

  


Adora woke up. Her mouth dry, her heart thumping with adrenaline, her blankets clinging to her body with cold sweat. Blind with terror, Adora didn't even notice Catra rise up from the blankets to try and console her.

"What's happening?" asked Catra, who was seconds away from suffering a panic attack of her own. "Adora?"

Heavy, shuddering heartbeats shook Adora's body. She felt scared enough to die, but she didn't even know _why_ she felt so scared. Her mind was full of holes. Dark, empty crevices where memories had once been and had been cut from her psyche with surgical precision. She fell forward and grasped Catra for support, holding her as tightly as it was possible to hold someone. Catra winced as Adora's grip set the wounds on her back ablaze, but she payed no attention to her own pain. Her only concern was comforting Adora...

"It's okay," Catra whispered, as much to reassure herself as Adora. "It's okay, it's only a dream, it's only a dream..."

In the corners of the barracks, the shadows watched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was always especially disturbed by the idea of Shadow Weaver editing Adora's memories, so it's part of my embarrassingly grimdark headcanon that Adora saw plenty of traumatic stuff as Weaver's close protege and the sorceress used memory-manipulation as a quick, cheap alternative to therapy. Yeah. 
> 
> If you're just tuning into this fic for the first time, then welcome! I hope I have made this fic worth the time it takes to read because, as of this update, WHAT WOULD YOU DO FOR A RATION BAR? is now officially longer than the Shawshank Redemption. 
> 
> If you've been with us since the start (looking at you, KageSama) then I hope this new chapter was worth the wait.


	15. The Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content warning: implied physical abuse, references to drowning]
> 
> I hope you like mental angst. Because that's exactly what you're gonna get with this chapter. Plus Catra's terrible kittenhood memories.

Adora’s sleep-deprived eyes fell upon the digital clock. It was now 15:16.

Less than six hours remained before her appointment in the Black Garnet Chamber.

She lay there in silence. She had no other options. She couldn’t talk because her tongue still throbbed with agony. She couldn’t sleep, because sleeping meant dreams, dreams meant nightmares, and Adora had lived through too many real nightmares to waste time dreaming up new ones. She still found herself checking the shadows for eyes.

But if Adora had anything nice to say about this week of starvation and trauma, it was that it had given her the opportunity to really _listen_ to Catra.

Chatting was not usually an option during their daily rounds as Horde cadets. The Fright Zone training regimen was designed to make warriors, not conversationalists, and talking while on-duty was a punishable offense. As a result, Catra tended to keep things to herself until she got the chance to cry into Adora’s chest after lights out. But now, she was very talkative.

Catra had spoken to Adora more in the past hour than she usually did in a month. Adora was sorry it had taken a near-death experience to get her kitty to open up. But now that she was, they were both happier. Nobody was shouting at them, dragging them apart, or demanding they abuse each-other as had happened every time her and Catra had met in the past week.

Both cadets were sprawled over the bunk, positioned in just the right way to avoid putting too much weight on the most beaten-up sides of their anatomies. Catra lay on her belly, resting her chin on her hands, while Adora lay on her back.

"Is it just me..." said Catra, drumming her talons on the steel bunk. "...or does it seem like the Horde is on a mission to kill us before we're even on the battlefield?"

Fighting the urge to sleep, Adora closed her eyes and shrugged.

"And do you know what the worst part is?" Catra continued. "Commander Grizzlor told me that the years we spend as cadets are supposed to be the easiest years of our lives."

Adora's eyes flew open, and she turned to stare incredulously at Catra.

"I _know_ , right?" said Catra. She laughed bitterly.

* * *

The time was 16:22. Adora looked desperately for ways to distract herself from her impending punishment.

Catra found Adora's dog-eared copy of the Force Captain Primer and, for the first time in possibly her short little life as a cadet, did her homework. She leafed past pages of tactical diagrams and speeches from Hordak until her glowing eyes met a particularly interesting passage.

 _"The Princesses, as cruel and powerful as they were, are cowards who would rather hide in their castles than offer battle!"_ recited Catra, in as dramatic a voice she could muster. _"But there can be no hiding from the wrath of the Horde!_ _For at Hordak's command, the halls of Bright Moon will be awash with royal blood, and there will be no evidence that the Princesses once reigned but for smouldering rubble and defiled graves -_ hey, are you listening?"

Adora blinked away the lovesick glaze in her eyes, and bowed her head apologetically. She really had been listening, but there was something hypnotic about the sight of Catra talking so passionately. The sound of Catra's voice soothed Adora, even if she was talking about death and destruction. Adora could have listened to her kitty recite the whole Primer.

 _"Hordak said: to wrest Etheria from the glittery claws of Princessdom..."_ Catra continued. _"...every soldier must be willing to gut themselves on the swords of the Rainbow Tyrants in order to secure victory for the Horde_." Catra's brow furrowed as she read. "Well, that's just stupid. I thought we were training to kill the enemy, not get killed ourselves."

Adora raised her blonde eyebrows in response. She hadn't thought of it that way before.

"Although, there's a line here that's interesting..." Catra cleared her throat. _"Hordak said: the mission of a Force Captain is not to succeed, but to see their enemies fail."_ Catra gave a dark chuckle. "That's a little sad. I mean, can you imagine being so messed up that you kill yourself just to kill someone else?"

* * *

Time passed. The clock read 17:30. Catra knelt by the foot of the bunk, idly playing with Adora's ponytail.

"I don't know _what_ he sees in that idiot," muttered Catra, "I mean, he's a giant lizard, and _he's_ a complete loser. Rogelio should be trying to eat him or something. Instead, they're, y'know..."

Catra lowered her hands in front of Adora's face and united them in an obscene gesture. Adora blushed and gently pushed the claws away.

"I guess it's kind of an exchange," continued Catra. "You remember what Rogelio was like back when we were all still in training shorts. He was just this tiny, useless lizard-thing. Everybody wanted to kick him around, so he would go hide under Kyle's shirt. So I guess, now Kyle's the tiny, useless one, Rogelio's returning the favor."

For a moment, Catra was lost in thought. Her skin-tearing talons raked softly through Adora's blonde hair, twining the golden tresses between her fingers, appreciating the softness.

"Do you ever wonder would happen if those two morons got split up?" Catra's eyes fell. "Rogelio might whine about it, but he's a meathead. He can defend himself. But Kyle, he's always the one who needs protecting. If Rogelio left, Kyle would have no-one left to protect him but his own sorry self." Catra cracked an unwholesome smile. "And I don't think he's up to that challenge..."

Catra's voice left her. When it returned, it sounded slow and thoughtful. "Must be scary to depend on someone that much..." she said, quietly. "Sometimes I think people who are able to to be alone don't know how lucky they are..."

Adora listened with concern. Something told her Catra wasn't just talking about Kyle and Rogelio.

* * *

The clock turned to 18:25. Adora and Catra sat cross-legged opposite each other.

"Okay, Adora," said Catra. She began folding up her red-grey Horde uniform shirt over her chest. "You showed me yours, I'll show you mine..."

As the uniform drew back, Adora saw the black tendrils spreading in a dense patch across the tanned skin of Catra's belly, marking the spot where her muscles and nerves had been drawn tight and _twisted_ with the power of the Black Garnet. Adora held up her own pale forearms to compare.

"Your marks are fading quicker," said Catra. There was a shade of jealously in her voice. She turned her back to reveal another ugly, crawling magic burn on her ribs. "See? I got these a couple of days ago in the cells, and you can still see it through the fur." Catra gave a long sigh. "I look disgusting..."

Adora fixed Catra with an expression of utmost seriousness, then dove her head down and blew a raspberry into her furry stomach.

* * *

The clock turned to 19:41. Catra was lying peacefully with her head on Adora's breast, which meant she could feel the scream building in Adora's lungs before she actually cried out.

Adora had only fallen asleep for a few minutes, but it was more than enough time for another dark vision to crawl out of her brain and lay waste to what remained of her emotional stability.

Catra eased Adora into a sitting position, and gently stroked her back with the slow, unfamiliar caresses of someone who was more used to being comforted than comforting. Adora hugged her kitty in return and tried to stop herself shaking uncontrollably with fear.

"It's okay..." mumbled Catra. As if saying so would make it so. "It's okay..."

* * *

The clock turned to 20:01. Catra and Adora sat on opposite sides of the bunk, unable to face each-other, knowing bitterly that in less than an hour, Shadow Weaver would decide Adora's fate.

Adora let out a long, slow breath as she contemplated the choices she'd made which had brought her here.

She knew she had no chance of undoing what had been set in motion. Mostly because _she'd_ been the one who set it in motion by openly defying Shadow Weaver. She had no right to complain. She had known this would happen. She had known that there would be a steep price to pay for refusing to beat Catra.

But knowing that wasn't going to make what was about to happen any less painful.

Yet in some small, sad way it helped her cope. Adora knew that there was a long list of 'reasons' Shadow Weaver could select to punish cadets at any given time. They ranged from Loitering to Fraternizing and, in Catra's case, Existing. So if Adora had to be punished, she was glad it was at least for something she actually deserved.

She did deserve it. Adora was as confident that it was bad to disobey Shadow Weaver as it was bad to hurt Catra. For years, Adora had been able to somehow keep these two dissonant beliefs inside her mind. But they were like skiff-fuel and fire. Stable when separate, but when bought together it became especially clear that they couldn't coexist without explosive consequences.

Adora suspected that was why Shadow Weaver had played her cruel little game in the first place. To force her golden cadet to choose where her loyalty lay once and for all. But what Adora wanted Shadow Weaver to understand more than anything was that there didn't have to _be_ a choice.

Shadow Weaver wanted her golden cadet to be as strong as possible, and Catra's love had become an immense source of strength for Adora. It had kept her fighting long after she thought all her strength had extinguished. At times, Adora wanted to conquer Etheria for the sole purpose of giving Catra a safer, kinder planet to live in. One with plenty of ration bars. And no belts.

But it would have been easier for Adora to fly to the moons and back than convince Shadow Weaver she was wrong. The sorceress could be very patient with Adora, but if she ever contradicted her, then Shadow Weaver would crack down hard.

When she was younger, Adora had learned that it was useless trying to prove Catra's worth to a sorceress who would only ever consider Catra a degenerate failure. So she'd stopped trying. She turned a blind eye to the Catra's bruises, her long, unexplained absences, and the way her ears flattened at the sight of an unexpected shadow.

Then last night had happened. It was hard to explain. Adora had tolerated Catra's agony for years, but in that long, painful night the thought of watching her kitty suffer any more seemed intolerable.

A small part of Adora's mind felt proud of herself. But every other part of her mind was stuck on a never-ending loop of:

 _Fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. I actually told Catra I loved her in front of Shadow Weaver. I_ _fucking said the words 'I love you' to Catra, right in front of Shadow Weaver. Forget being Force Captain. I'll be lucky if I get out of here alive...  
_

Adora checked the clock. 20:10. Her skin crawled. Her breathing became quiet and shallow.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe she'd just walk into the Black Garnet Chamber and walk out an hour later with a new set of bruises and aches and Shadow Weaver's scolding voice ringing in her ears but nothing more than that.

But Adora felt like her brain was trying to warn her. She had reassured herself that her traumatic dreams might be just that, only dreams, but every time Adora fell asleep, she could sense evidence that her mind had been bent to a will other than her own.

In any case, Adora had this inexplicable fear that if she walked into the Black Garnet Chamber, she'd either die or never see Catra again.

It was hard to tell which was worse.

In that moment, as Adora grappled with her uncertain future, Catra spoke up.

“I say we run away,” announced Catra. Her voice was quiet, but heavy with purpose. “We make a break for it.”

When Adora looked up at Catra, she was staring straight into the floor of the barracks as if it were a bottomless pit.

"I know we can't open the door. But when Lonnie disengages the lock for you to go to the Black Garnet Chamber, you and me can run straight to the nearest hangar," Catra gestured into the distance as if imparting some great artistic vision. “We can get a skiff, and we can ride that sucker as fast as we can for as far as we can until we reach somewhere even the scouter-bots can’t find us. We’d have to start from scratch, but you always get the highest score in battlefield survival tests, and you know I’m a mean hunter."

The two cadets remained silent. Even the sounds of the machinery in the walls seemed to fade as Adora considered Catra's offer.

"It'd be hard," added Catra, her eyes still fixed on the ground. "But we could do it."

Then Catra looked up. Adora had been expecting tears or anger or pretty much any emotion at all. But Catra's gaze was calm. She was very serious.

"But I couldn't do it alone," said Catra. "If I run away, it's either with you, or not at all."

There was another long, meaningful silence as Adora turned away from Catra and stared into the ceiling of the bunk. She suddenly realized that no matter how many terrible things had happened to her and the ones she loved; she’d never once considered leaving the Horde.

Obviously, there were practical reasons for this. You couldn't just stroll out of the Fright Zone, especially when you had just endured multiple beat-downs and a week of disciplinary fasting. Even if her and Catra looted the ration dispensers on their way out, it would take a long time before they were both fighting fit again, and time would not be something they had.

If the alarm was sounded and Adora and Catra were still within range of the Fright Zone's automated defenses, they'd be as good as dead. There'd be nothing left of them except two little hills of faintly glowing ash.

But it wasn't just fear of barbed wire and minefields that kept Adora in the Fright Zone.

To most people, the Fright Zone was the worse place in Etheria. It was saturated with pollution to the point where not even a single blade of grass could survive. It was a prison where tens of thousands of broken soldiers lived broken lives within towers built out of the broken remnants of Hordak's ship. It was a death-trap second only to Beast Island, where even the dirt itself represented a lethal threat.

But to Adora, it was home. Her only home. It was hard not to be attached to your childhood home, even if it was crawling with killer robots.

Adora loosely understood through books and tactical maps there were places outside the Fright Zone where the sky was clearer, the moons shone brighter, and the air was unchoked by industrial fumes. But none of that changed the fact that Adora had grown up a child of the Horde. That wasn’t something Adora could change at her leisure, like a uniform.

She had friends in the Horde. Friends who depended on her and protected her as she depended on and protected them. And as much as it made Adora's soul shrivel up with anger to admit, she wanted to appease Shadow Weaver. The desire to do her duty, no matter the cost, gnawed at the edges of Adora's mind like a persistent itch that only sweet, validating praise from the sorceress could scratch.

Adora had broken her old training routine for less than a single day, and she already felt nauseous. Whatever comfort she derived from Catra's company was being overwhelmed by the fear that she was risking everything she'd worked so hard to achieve.

If Adora stayed in the Horde and achieved her ambitions, then there would have at least been a _reason_ for her childhood to have been so painful. Every tear she'd ever shed for herself and her squad-mates would be retroactively justified when her hard work _finally_ caught Hordak's attention and she had the chance to liberate (and subjugate) the far corners of Etheria as a mighty Force Captain.

But if she left the Horde, everything would have been a meaningless waste. She'd have nothing to show for her suffering except...suffering.

Yes, she had plenty of suffering now, but Adora reasoned that was just because she was a lowly cadet. Soon she would be a soldier, climbing the ranks, and with rank came power and with power came _protection._ Cadet Adora could do little more than watch her squad-mates suffer, but _Force Captain_ Adora could push back. She could punish those who hurt the ones she loved, just as Shadow Weaver had punished Octavia...

Adora's brain flinched with shame. She really didn't want to model her future self on Shadow Weaver, but who else did she have to look up to?

If Shadow Weaver had taught Adora anything, it was that all the kind intentions in Etheria would amount to nothing without real power behind them. And that's exactly what the Horde offered. Real power. The strength she needed to protect the ones she loved. And if Adora wanted that power she had to be a good cadet, follow the rules, and accept her punishment.

All these thoughts and more weighed on Adora's mind as she contemplated Catra's escape plan. It would have been hard to give an answer even with full use of her voice. But with her bitten tongue, Adora could only nod or shake her head.

“Well?” asked Catra. She struggled to stay in control of her emotions. Her fur bristled insecurely.

Adora bit her lip and looked Catra in the eyes. She looked at the girl who'd brought her so much joy and so much pain over the years. The girl whose eyes shone no matter how dark it was. The girl she might never see again.

Adora shook her head.

“That's okay, that's fine,” said Catra, quickly. She straightened her hair and dusted off her shoulders. “There’s nothing I can do. It's your choice, and I respect it.”

Then Catra started to shake. She hugged herself tightly, as if she could force her own body to be still, but she did not succeed. She shook like a leaf in a strong gale. Then the sobs came. Tiny but powerful sobs that forced their way past Catra's feigned calm like hiccups. She tried to cover them with fake laughter.

"You know, it's _funny_..." began Catra, hugging herself tighter. “But this isn't the first time I've thought about running away!”

There was a short silence, which was broken by Catra's joyless laugh. Adora recognized the deranged undertones crawling into Catra's voice. She was doing it again. She was trying to hide her pain with a smirk.

“How many times do you think I’ve tried to escape this place, Adora?” Catra asked. “Go on, guess.”

After a moment of concerned silence, Adora stuck up one finger. The moment she did so, one of Catra's hands broke away from her tight self-hug, stuck up three claws and wiggled them in front of Adora's face.

“Three times!” snapped Catra, with a hint of pride. “Well, the first time didn’t really count. I was really young, and I climbed out of my cage in Pre-Cadet Care. You remember those cages, right?”

Shivers run up and down Adora’s spine. It was hard to forget something as cramped and child-unfriendly as the wire cages they had been kept in when they weren't being weighed, measured, and tested so that the Horde could best determine their place in the war-machine.

“I just kept on running and didn't stop," continued Catra. "I don’t know where I thought I was gonna go, I was just so happy to be out of that fucking cage that I ran around in circles until they caught me. Every second I spent free was a victory.”

Adora was suddenly blessed with the mental image of baby Catra scampering to freedom. A troublemaker before she could even walk.

“The second time I was seven,” continued Catra. “I only made it past the stun-rod charging stations on Level Three before I wussed out.” Catra clenched her eyes shut and cringed. “But it took me hours to get back because I was so scared. I knew if I returned, Weaver would punish me, but I knew the longer I was missing, the harder I’d get punished. So I was just kind of…stuck. Too scared to leave, too scared to stay. Then when I finally got back, after all that, do you know what happened? Weaver hadn’t even realized I was gone." 

Catra gave a long, heavy sigh. When she spoke again, her voice had dropped into a bitter growl. “If you left her sight, even for a minute, she’d go looking for you, but I disappeared for an entire day and she didn’t give a shit. Not one single shit. I was so sad, but I didn't understand why. I mean, I should have been happy, right? I didn't get punished. But...” Catra flexed her claws as she struggled to explain. "At least when Weaver's punishing me, she's acknowledging I exist."

Her tail started to flick back and forth in anger, thudding softly against the bunk.

"The third time I was ten, and I was serious about running away. I made it all the way to the Fright Zone docks and stowed away on a tanker, one of the big ones that resupplied the squadrons near Salineas. They had actually turned all the engines on and pulled up the anchor when I got scared again...” Catra paused. “…I don’t know why it took me so long to realize it, but I didn’t know anyone outside the limits of the Fright Zone. I was afraid that if they turned out to be even bigger jerks than the people here, I wouldn’t even have you around to cheer me up.”

Catra's lambent blue-gold eyes flashed towards Adora, who blushed.

"I called for help until one of the soldiers found me, but that was just the beginning of my problems. Those assholes didn’t stop the boat, they just picked me up tail-first and threw me over the side like a piece of garbage. The water was fucking gross and full of oil and I was scared I was going to get sucked into the engines. And trust me, Adora, swimming with all this fur? it's not fun. It took me ages to swim back to the pier. And when I did, Shadow Weaver was there …”

Those last words hung in the air like storm clouds.

“She was looking at me. She wasn’t yelling or scolding or doing anything at all. She just watched me struggle. It was low tide, so I couldn’t reach the ladder, and the pier was solid steel, so I couldn't get my claws into it. I was kicking my legs in the water and it was just enough to keep my head above the surface, but eventually I wasn’t even strong enough to do that. I started drowning.”

Catra’s tail unconsciously curled itself around Adora’s arm. It was something she always did when she was feeling vulnerable.

“I remember the water getting in my eyes. It _burned_ , and I screamed for help, but just bubbles came out and I started choking. I remember the last thing I saw was Shadow Weaver’s eyes, glowing at me. And I thought: ‘This is it. She’s going to watch me die.’ But she didn’t.” Catra looked down and spoke the next three words as if confessing some unforgivable crime. “She saved me.”

Adora sat closer to Catra. Her hand found Catra's claw, and squeezed reassuringly.

"I felt the shadows wrap around me, and the next thing I knew, I was laid out on the dock. I was throwing up seawater and could sense Weaver was standing over me, and I thought she was going to...you know..." Catra made a hitting gesture, sparing her from having to speak the unspeakable. "But she didn't do that, either." Catra could feel fresh tears burning her eyes. "She put a towel over me, picked me up and took me back to the barracks. We didn't say anything to each other."

Catra smiled, but her eyes clenched shut as if she was in agony. The tears began to fall.

"I know it sounds impossible," said Catra, between sniffles. "But that's what happened. I mean, she didn't hug me or say she loved me or anything crazy like that. But she was so _gentle._ And every day after that, I thought maybe she..really...I mean, deep down, she really..."

The words evaporated in Catra's mouth. She couldn't bring herself to finish. Suddenly, she felt Adora's arms enfolding her.

"No," said Catra, quietly. She turned around to see Adora's crying face. The sight seemed to dissolve Catra's own sadness as she straightened up and her voice rose in volume. "No, no, no, I didn't want to make you cry too, Adora! Shit, I can't let you go to the Black Garnet Chamber like this!"

Adora wiped her eyes with the collar of her Horde uniform and sniffled thickly as she tried to compose herself. But it was hard not to be moved by Catra's story.

"I don't want to scare you," said Catra, quietly but urgently. "But you have to be prepared. You're in for a rough night." She reached up and stroked Adora's face, laying the back of her hand against her red-flushed cheek. "I've been in this same spot as you, Adora. Sitting here, waiting for Shadow Weaver to punish me. I've learned ways to deal with it," said Catra. "Would you like me to give you some tips?"

Slowly, and with a glimmer of hope in her eyes, Adora nodded.

* * *

20:55. Not long now. Adora leaned against Catra, clinging to her kitten while she still had the chance.

"Your best move would be to go in on your own two feet and face Weaver down," said Catra. "You won't succeed, but at least once it gets too much, you can go on your knees. If you _start_ on your knees, begging for mercy, then there's nowhere to go but the floor." Catra shuddered. "And believe me, that's where it gets bad."

Something about the way Catra spoke took Adora by surprise. She suddenly realized that, when it came to Shadow Weaver's 'discipline', Catra was probably an expert. Just like Kyle was an expert in getting his ration bars stolen. A cadet could adapt to any kind of hardship in the Horde. Especially if they had no other choice than to endure it.

"The good news is that, well, you're strong," said Catra, giving a weak smile. "So you're already halfway prepared. You just need to hold on to that strength for as long as you can. And I'm not just talking physical strength. You could be as beefy as Rogelio, but as long as Weaver's got binding magic, she can mess you up. You gotta be strong in _here_."

Catra gestured to her forehead for emphasis.

"Normally when I'm with Weaver, she talks about, you know, how _disgusting_ I am," Catra sighed. "But seeing as it's _you_ , she'll probably want to talk about, I don't know, 'duty' or 'potential' or something. I can't tell you what to say, but if you can get her lecturing you, that's good. Keep her talking for as long as possible. Because as long as Weaver is busy talking, she's not doing...something else. You understand?"

Adora gave a heartsick snuffle, and understood.

"And for Horde's sake, you have to stop _crying_ ," mumbled Catra, "We both have to."

Catra and Adora stared at each-other, eyes shining with barely contained tears, for a full thirty seconds. Adora gulped back sobs until it felt like her throat was about to explode. Her guts wrenched as if one of Octavia's tentacles was cinched around her stomach. Then, just as the urge to cry became unbearable, it slowly began to fade.

"See?" said Catra. She raised a claw and very gently tapped the crown of Adora's head. "You're strong in here, too..."

The crimson-lit numbers of the clock turned from 20:59 to 21:00.

Lights out. Time to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed the usual Sunday deadline! This chapter needed a bit more work. I hope you found it worth the wait.


	16. The Whisper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content warning: implied and actual abuse, suicide mention, panic attacks, seriously this is a rough one so brace yourself before scrolling down]

21:00. Lights-out. The Horde was preparing itself for another night of troubled sleep.

Nights were quiet in the barracks. The Horde's sadistically rigorous training regimen ensured every cadet stumbled home at the end of the day too tired to do anything besides collapse face-first into their bunks. It was a very effective means of discipline. Cadets couldn't get up to mischief if they were too exhausted to even get up in the first place.

Automatic doors slid open and the cadets filed in, eager to crawl under the covers and escape into blissful sleep. Or as blissful as sleep could be when you were a traumatized orphan. One by one, the lights flickered off until only a single light remained, flickering dimly from a door at the far end of the hallway.

Behind that door, Catra and Adora sat together on the edge of the bunk, eyes closed, embracing.

It was in the nature of Horde kids to enjoy the little things when the world around them got too tough. Adora was no exception. Her tongue still hurt like crazy and her rumbling stomach hadn't received anything but a hard stomping from Octavia. But even if she couldn't eat, sleep, or talk, at least she could sit quietly with her kitten for a while, listening to her purr.

But soon she wouldn't even be able to do that.

She'd have to leave for the Black Garnet Chamber and, considering the downward trajectory of Shadow Weaver's mood from stern anger to cold-blooded vengefulness, it was safe to assume she wouldn't be coming back for a long time. Maybe not at all.

So much about the future was uncertain, but Adora did know one thing absolutely for sure. She had to enjoy Catra while she still had the chance. Even if it was just for a few more seconds...

Adora could feel Catra melt in her arms. She was more relaxed tonight than she had been in a long while. All the tension in her tender, abused muscles was unwinding and it was making Adora almost envious. Even with her stomach still empty and her bruises on her back still pulsing, a good hug was enough for Catra to feel safe. Adora wished it was enough for _her_ to feel safe too.

Because she was afraid. She'd been afraid before, but nothing, _nothing_ like this.

This was how Adora imagined Horde soldiers lost their minds on the front lines, stuck inside bunkers with nothing to do but think about but all the horrible things that could happen to them when it was their turn on the battlefield. Except, on the battlefield, you might at least have a couple of tanks and a squadron to back you up. What did Adora have to bring to her battle with Shadow Weaver?

Nothing. Just plain old Adora, all on her own.

_**And how much are you worth, Adora, without Shadow Weaver behind you?** _

Adora tried to stop thinking. Just living with the fact that she was going to be tortured again was painful enough. She didn't want to think because whenever she did, the memories had feelings attached - Shadow Weaver hugging her close with freezing cold hands, the magical afterburn on her skin squirming like a colony of parasites, her tongue oozing with blood...

She tried to do something, anything, to relax. It should have been easy. Normally just being near Catra calmed Adora down. Her kitten just seemed to radiate a perpetual field of purring relaxation. But when Adora rubbed her cheek against the silvery tufts of fur framing Catra's face, eliciting a reflexive “Mrrbt?” from the magicat, she realized that none of Catra's warmth was reaching her.

Adora felt cold.

The imminent appointment in the Black Garnet Chamber loomed in her mind like the shadow of an enormous tidal wave, filling her with panic. Not the kind of panic that compelled her to take a brave stand for her squadron. The kind of freezing, traumatized panic that made her want to get down on her knees, curl up into a little ball, and let herself be washed away. Because maybe the less she resisted, the less it would hurt...

Adora shuddered. Catra noticed her discomfort and gently trailed the palm of her hand down the curve of Adora's back, sending her love into the aching muscles. Catra was starting to get the hang of comforting. She wished she'd done it more often, but she'd never really had the chance. Adora had never been this scared for herself before.

"It's okay," she whispered, in that voice that always gave Adora shivers. She tightened her hug, pressing Adora into her fur.

Adora felt a painful lump in her throat begin to rise. She swallowed it down. Her appointment in the Black Garnet Chamber was imminent and she knew what was required of her. She had to surrender, accept her punishment, and make it through the night without a single sniffle. But Adora knew could feel the urge to sob pushing against her defenses. All it would take was one moment of weakness.

Sooner or later, she was going to break, and she hoped it would at least be in front of Catra and not Shadow Weaver.

Insider her mind, everything had devolved into a desperate struggle to cling on to what little bravery she had left. There would be no hope of comfort between now and whenever Shadow Weaver saw fit to dismiss her. And who knew when that might be?

_**Never. You've proven you can't be trusted, Adora. She'll never let you go.  
** _

Adora stopped herself again, trying to shush the whispering shadows in her brain.

Deep down in her mind, some kind of inner Adora had awoken. It was an Adora who longed for how things had been just a few weeks ago when Shadow Weaver was a woman who gave her private lessons in a warm library and was full of gentle but stern advice in the battle sims and, above all, didn't want to torture her.

**_There's still time. If you tell her how sorry you are, maybe she'll forgive you, it can all go back to the way it was before..._ **

Shame seized Adora immediately. She tried to silence the whispers again, but this time they persisted.

**_The squadron will never be safe until Weaver forgives you._ **

_**She has power and you have none. You need her. You can't protect anyone without her.**  
_

Adora buried her face into Catra's mane and the voices were muffled. For now.

Suddenly, Catra tensed up. Her ears flicked and twitched in response to noises only she could hear. She opened her eyes and sniffed the air, wrinkling her freckled nose as her heightened feline senses went to work. It was hard for Catra to perceive anything through the ugly melange of chemicals that covered the Fright Zone, but there was definitely a change in the atmosphere of the room.

"Somone's coming," whispered Catra.

Adora gently pulled herself away from Catra and gestured as if to say: _Hide. Hide._

Catra knew the drill. She understood the penalties for 'Fraternization' better than anybody in the Fright Zone and could switch between snuggling and stealth mode in the blink of an eye. But as soon as she'd vaunted onto the top bunk she paused, just for a fraction of a second, and scrambled back to Adora.

"Sorry, I forgot," whispered Catra, urgently. Then she leaned forward and kissed Adora.

A tiny ember of warmth sparked in Adora's frozen heart, and she returned the kiss as fast as possible. Then their lips separated and Catra was in the top bunk so quickly that Adora barely saw her move.

Then the door hissed open, revealing a square of deeper darkness amidst the already dark barracks.

Catra and Adora stared into the unlit doorway, expecting at any moment to see Shadow Weaver's eyes piercing through the void, hair writhing, tendrils extruding from her red robes to bind Adora and drag her away...

Instead, they saw Lonnie. Both cadets almost immediately exhaled with relief.

Lonnie was alone and limping with the now all-too-familiar agony of performing a full day's training on an empty stomach. She looked about as bad as she felt. Her uniform was stuck to her body with sweat and her sleeves were rolled up to reveal bare forearms that had been heavily bruised, probably from blocking dueling-staffs and robotic limbs all morning. She took a step or two into the barrack, semi-conscious with exhaustion. Then she suddenly noticed Catra and Adora staring at her and remembered her dignity. 

Lonnie straightened up, wiped her sweaty palms on her pants, and said, "H-Hey."

While Adora relaxed a little at the sight of Lonnie, Catra stayed a little tense. She wasn't exactly bursting with sympathy towards Lonnie on a good day, and today she had beaten Catra up. Twice. So when Lonnie staggered closer, Catra peered over the edge of the bunk and threw out an accusing claw.

"Idiot," growled Catra. "You scared the shit out of us! Couldn't you have _said something_ to let us know it was you?"

Lonnie turned her bleary eyes up at the magicat. She made a point of tearing the grimy bandage off her head before responding.

"Glad to see you too, Catra," said Lonnie. The corners of her mouth twitched in what might have been an attempt to smile. "You look fine...has Adora been grooming you?"

An involuntary blush lit up Catra's face, then her eyes narrowed. "Fuck off," she snarled.

Lonnie rolled her eyes. "I liked you better when you were depressed," she said, kicking off her boots one by one. She knew it was a mean thing to say, and on top of that, it wasn't even true. Lonnie was happy to see Catra back to her old vicious self, but she would sooner have joined the Rebellion than let Catra know that.

Suddenly, Lonnie gasped and clutched her head as she felt a headache building in her skull. She swayed on her feet, blinking hard in an attempt to make the barracks stop spinning. If pain was alcohol, then Lonnie was somehow both drunk and hungover.

Lonnie half-collapsed, half-sat on the edge of the bunk next to Adora. "You guys missed an awesome day..." she said, rubbing the crown of her head.

Catra's face appeared upside-down over the edge of the top bunk, ears perked up. "Really?" she said.

"Oh _yeah_ ," said Lonnie, letting herself fall backward into the blanket. When she spoke it was between long, heavy breaths. "We came first place in the battle sims...and kicked serious ass at the dueling pits...Commander Cobalt was so impressed he sneaked us a couple of ration bars..."

The mention of food made Catra's ears perk up. "Really!?"

An angry expression dropped over Lonnie's face like the visor over a helmet. "Of course not," she murmured. "We came dead last in the sims...got our asses handed to us in the duels...then I threw up on Commander Cobalt's boots...had to do like a _million_ pushups..."

Catra raised an eyebrow. "That's tough luck, Lonnie."

"I know...I know..."

"I mean, if you were gonna throw up, you might as well have aimed for his stupid face," said Catra, giving a sharp-fanged grin. "At least then he'd have a reason to be a big blue jerk about it."

A reluctant giggle escaped Lonnie's mouth.

"Wow, did you just laugh, Lonnie?" said Catra.

"I know..." said Lonnie, breathlessly. "I think I'm so hungry, my brain is dying..."

Suddenly, Lonnie realized that Adora was staring at her. She sat up and was shocked by the dark rings that had formed under Adora's baby-blue eyes. She looked haunted.

Adora nodded in the direction of the doorway as if to say: _Where's Kyle and Rogelio?_

Lonnie blinked heavily again. Had she forgotten they weren't behind her? Shit. Maybe the lack of ration bars really _was_ killing her brain. She wiped the sweat off her forehead before she spoke.

"The boys are in the...infirmary," Lonnie began. "One of the big robots threw Rogelio into the air...'cause he can't dodge for shit...then Kyle got the stupid fucking idea to try and _catch him_..." Lonnie shook her head. "But they're fine though," she added, catching Adora's worried expression. "Just concussed..."

"So they're spending the night there?" asked Catra, ears flicking.

"Yeah..." said Lonnie, rubbing her eyes again.

"Can we go visit them?" said Catra, quickly.

Lonnie's dazed expression suddenly focused. "Sheesh, Catra, since when do _you_ care?"

"I don't," said Catra, curtly. "I was just wondering if they got..." She faltered, her ears flattening in anticipation of disappointment. "...food."

"You don't think I already asked?" said Lonnie. She hung her head in despair. "I asked Grizzlor if he could let it slide...but when he saw Shadow Weaver's signature on the rations blacklist, he was like, 'forget it'...I guess even big monsters like him are scared of her..."

Lonnie's palm fell over her face and she sighed deeply. She noticed through the gaps in her fingers that Adora was still staring at the floor, her face creased with worry.

"I swear, they're fine..." said Lonnie, patting Adora on the back. "We all know those two morons don't have any brains to damage...and hey, they got to go to bed early..." She forced a smile. "...if anything, _they_ should be worrying about _us_..."

Almost instantly, Lonnie could tell her attempt at reassurance had fallen flat. Adora just continued to look down, hands clasped between her knees, shaking slightly as her mind formed unpleasant images of Kyle and Rogelio tied to slabs with needles in their arms.

"For Horde's sake, Adora..." muttered Lonnie. She gave Adora a gentle nudge. "I told you...you can't be a hero...not tonight...worry about yourself for once..."

Adora didn't respond. Her mind was racing. She didn't know how to process the news that Kyle and Rogelio were hospitalized. Even though she was happy that they were receiving long-overdue medical attention, losing two squad-mates the night before she visited Shadow Weaver was a bad omen.

The stakes had just been raised. If Shadow Weaver sent _her_ to the infirmary then there wouldn't be much of the Horde Squad left standing except for Lonnie and Catra. Both great cadets in their own right, but about as likely to work together as Hordak was to share his laboratory with a princess.

Adora knew that a squad losing more than half its members would only mean disaster. The wheels of the Horde war-machine would not stop and wait for them to recover. They would keep on turning and if the Horde Squad couldn't keep up, they would be crushed. The higher-ups would lose what little patience they had and start talking about transfers, resettlement, and maybe even Beast Island...

Chills ran down Adora's backbone as she confronted the possibility that the squad might be split up. Even thinking about it was like a shock-baton being jabbed into her chest. Adora could withstand being beaten within an inch of death if that's what it took to keep her squad-mates together but seeing the squadron crumble after everything she'd sacrificed - that could actually destroy her.

Suddenly, the inner whispers began to make themselves heard again.

**_You think you've sacrificed._ **

**_What exactly was it you were sacrificing, hm?_ ** _**Was it yourself? Or Catra?**  
_

Adora felt the inner whispers grow louder. They lashed out, leaving vivid red cuts across her brain.

**_When Catra came back at night, crying, did you ever confront Shadow Weaver about it? No._ **

**_What about all those times you heard Catra whimper because her bruises still hurt, even though the punishment was last week? Did you go to Shadow Weaver and ask her to go easy? Of course, she'd never have listened, but did you even_ try? _No.  
_ **

**_How about when Shadow Weaver lectured you and said all those disgusting lies about Catra? Did you tell her to stop? Did you tell her it wasn't true? Did you tell her how beautiful and kind Catra really was?  
_ **

**_No, no, no._ **

**_Because the last time you did that, Shadow Weaver bent you over her desk and made you very, very sorry. It was probably a gentle beating compared to the ones she heaped on Catra, but it was enough to make you give up on defending the girl who loved you.  
_ **

**_Because you're a coward._ **

**_You're a disgusting coward._ **

**_It's all caught up with you, Adora. All the lies you told Shadow Weaver. All those times you let Catra get hurt. All those times you sacrificed her so you could keep being Weaver's golden cadet. They've all lead up to you sitting on this stupid bunk, utterly helpless, about to lose everything._ **

**_It's too late to start standing up to Weaver. Ten years too late. The damage is already done.  
_ **

**_If you were half as strong as you think you are, you'd have resisted Shadow Weaver from the beginning. You'd have kicked and screamed until she was forced to find some other cadet to make her favorite. But you didn't. You liked the attention. The feeling that you were special._** **_So, you petted Catra with one hand and pushed her away with the other.  
_ **

**_You believed you could have your ration bar and eat it too._ **

**_You deserve to get punished._ **

Suddenly, Lonnie's hand fell on Adora's shoulder. The dark whispers retreated.

"Adora..." said Lonnie, gesturing at the open doorway. "It's lights-out...you have to..."

Her voice trailed off. Adora wasn't looking up at her. The air grew tense and cold as if a freezing wind had rolled into the barracks. Suddenly, the bunk shook as Catra climbed down and settled next to Adora. Lonnie flinched as if expecting to get pounced, but Catra seemed content to glare at her for the moment.

Lonnie just closed her eyes and sighed deeply. She had spent all day worrying about this moment, even when she was getting swatted around the simulator by robots. Various disaster scenarios had played out in her head - that Catra would refuse to let Adora go, that Shadow Weaver would come to collect herself, or that Lonnie would upon the door and find out Adora and Catra had escaped and were now crawling under the Fright Zone perimeter defense grid.

So far none of these things had come to pass, but there was always a chance for things to go wrong.

"Don't look at me like that..." said Lonnie, squirming under Catra's lambent eyes. "You knew this was gonna happen...that Adora was gonna have to leave...you should be prepared..."

"We are prepared," said Catra. Her glowing eyes flicked towards the blonde cadet sat pensively on the edge of the bunk. "Right, Adora?"

Adora felt Lonnie and Catra's worried eyes on her. She kept her head down. She didn't want them to see her so afraid.

_**No, Adora, you're not prepared and you never will be prepared.** _

_**You've had your whole disgusting, spoiled life to prepare yourself to resist Shadow Weaver, and you still can't do it. What good are a few more minutes going to do?** _

Adora looked up and her head seemed to nod of its own accord. She gave Lonnie a broad, forced smile which was not pleasant to look at. Lonnie swallowed anxiously and exchanged a concerned glance with Catra.

"Are you sure?" said Lonnie, her voice wavering with uncertainty.

Adora nodded again, trying to make herself unafraid and confident by sheer force of will. But Adora couldn't hide the glaze of fear in her eyes, and Lonnie couldn't help but notice it.

The whole thing was weird and unfamiliar to Lonnie. Normally when one of their squad-mates was called up for discipline, nobody got all sentimental. Discipline was something they expected each other to endure alone. Plus, there was an unspoken certainty that no matter how bad your squad-mate got their ass whooped, they'd still be in their bunk by the next morning.

But this time things weren't so certain. Lonnie and Catra were both afraid, to varying degrees, that after they sent Adora off tonight they might never see her again. Unspoken fear crackled between the three cadets like electricity.

"Maybe I should come with you..." said Lonnie. "Just, you know, to walk you up to the doorway...this place is dangerous after lights-out..."

Catra's fur suddenly bristled with indignation. "Hey," she protested, placing her claws gently but possessively on Adora's shoulders. "If anyone goes with Adora, it's gonna be me."

"Yeah?" said Lonnie, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," growled Catra. Her blue-gold eyes narrowed. "I see better in the dark."

"But aren't you scared of Weaver?" said Lonnie.

"Always," snarled Catra, quietly. "But it's not gonna stop me."

Lonnie seemed to be slightly impressed by this response. "Then we can both go." She cracked a weak smile. "Adora can use us as crutches..."

Catra opened her mouth to say something mean to Lonnie, but she stopped and seemed to genuinely consider the proposal. "You sure you can still walk?" she said, eventually. There was no snark in her voice.

Lonnie rolled her tired, bloodshot eyes. "Nah...but I can still _limp_ pretty good..." She turned back to Adora. "What do you say?"

Adora looked up and saw she was surrounded by sympathetic faces. Sat beside her were two girls who hated each other's guts and were probably in pain just from being awake, but were willing to ignore all of that just to help _her._

She swallowed then finally returned Lonnie and Catra's concerned stares. She took Catra's paws off her shoulders and shook her head.

"Wait, so you...want to go alone?" said Catra, concern painting her thin freckled face.

A slow nod was Adora's only response.

She wasn't sure what to do. Her mind and her body felt out of sync. Almost instantly the inner Adora whispered from the recesses of her mind.

_**What are you doing, Adora? Why aren't you asking for help?** _

_**You know you need it.** _

_**But maybe that's exactly why you're not asking, hm? Because a Force Captain never needs help.** _ _**A Force Captain would never let their soldiers see how scared they are.** _

_**Besides, even if you asked them, they can't help you. No-one can help you. Weaver wants to hurt you and Weaver always gets what she wants. If Catra and Lonnie get in the way, she'll just hurt them too.** _

_**Are you really going to let them suffer because of you again?  
**_

_**No. You're gonna face Shadow Weaver alone.** _

_**Maybe that's how things always should be.** _

_**Just you and your Shadow.** _

There was a strained silence between the three cadets. It looked for a moment like Catra was going to argue with Adora, then suddenly stopped herself and turned her eyes to the floor. Lonnie just fixed Adora with a piercing glare that was a mix of concern and suspicion.

"You _sure_ you're ready?" asked Lonnie, putting as much emphasis on the 'sure' as possible.

"She already answered you," said Catra, in a sudden low voice.

Lonnie frowned. "But she's..."

"Give it a rest, Lonnie!" said Catra. She looked up again and gave a wobbly smile. "Adora knows what she's doing. She's not like you and me. She's a people-pleaser. Probably have Shadow Weaver forgiving her by breakfast."

Those last words of hopeless optimism hung in the air. Lonnie gave them both a doubting look, while Adora looked into Catra's eyes and knew she wasn't the only one trying to hide her pain.

Adora swallowed hard as she realized that even though they'd had all day to comfort each other, it still hadn't been enough. She still resented every second she spent without Catra in her arms. It was almost a punishment of its own.

The realization that there was no way to leave without hurting Catra stabbed into Adora's conscience like a white-hot needle. Shame gnawed at her. This was the second time Catra had offered to help, and the second time Adora had turned her down. She couldn't blame her kitten for feeling rejected.

_**Better rejected than beaten.** _

_**You know Weaver. Seeing Catra will set her off, no question about it. Then you'll both end up punished. And Catra can't take the strain of another beating. Something inside her will snap that can't be unsnapped.** _

_**This squad has suffered enough because of you, Adora.** _

_**You think you've fighting to save them. But have you ever really thought why they need** **to be saved in the first place?** _

_**It's because of you, Adora. You set all this pain in motion.** _

_**That gang in the showers. They were after you. You're the one who pissed them off. Not Lonnie.**  
_

_**The rations blacklist. Shadow Weaver is starving the entire squad all because of you** **. You disobeyed her. Not them.** _

_**And Catra. You want her and she wants you. But you're Weaver's golden cadet and Weaver doesn't like to share...** _

_**That's how it has always been.** _ _**You make Shadow Weaver angry, but she'll never hurt her precious pet directly.**_

_**So she hurts the people around you. Weaver sees them as a means to an end, and that end is you, Adora.  
** _

_**Where you go, the Shadow follows.** _

_**You're not a Force Captain.** _

_**You're a monster.  
** _

_**You're a curse.** _

Adora's gaze slowly slid away from her squad-mates and towards the open doorway at the end of the barracks. Beyond it was a dark hallway that led to even darker metal corridors twisting deep into the innermost workings of the Fright Zone, leading to the darkest place of all. The Black Garnet Chamber.

In her mind, Adora pictured her endless walk past the buzzing wires and rattling pipes, trying desperately to think of some way she could endure what she knew was an unendurable punishment. Shadow Weaver would be in no mood to listen to excuses. And even if she was, Adora's tongue still had a deep bite mark, robbing her of her voice, so even begging for mercy was not an option.

But she would still be able to scream.

Last night, the other squadrons had heard her and Catra's piercing cries loud and clear. They'd wasted no time taunting them about it the next morning and they definitely wouldn't waste the opportunity tonight. Adora had a sudden image of Catra curled up in bed, ears scrunched up in her fists as her sensitive hearing picked up the howls echoing from the Black Garnet Chamber.

Suddenly, Adora found she could not move away from the bunk. She couldn't move at all.

She willed herself to rise, say her goodbyes, and walk away, but her body wouldn't listen. Getting up and leaving had become as physically impossible as if she'd been riveted to the bunk or weighted down with invisible chunks of concrete.

Adora felt her breath quicken and her empty stomach twist itself into a nauseous spiral. The whispers in the back of her mind spoke up, growing in confidence, growing angrier.

**_Oh, so now you're too scared?_ **

**Y _ou should be scared. You know what's in the Black Garnet Chamber._** _  
_

**_Weaver let you take a glimpse for yourself, remember? Not as a punishment. As a 'treat'._ **

**_You didn't ask to be there. You didn't want to be there. But you were there anyway because you didn't want to disappoint Shadow Weaver._ ** **_Story of your fucking life, right there._ **

**_At first, it was beautiful. When Garnet glowed, the shadows around it looked like they were dancing.  
_ **

**_But then she plucked strands of darkness out of the wall, and she weaved them into...things._ **

**_They had red eyes that never blinked, and bodies that flowed like oil. One of them swam right up to your face. You wanted to turn away, but you didn't want to disappoint Shadow Weaver. So you forced yourself to keep looking._**

**_It wasn't bravery. It was obedience. Blind, frightened obedience. Of course, Weaver was proud of you.  
_ **

**_"Good girl. See? There's nothing to fear. My shadows cannot hurt you. Not unless I want them to."_ **

**_And you were confused. You didn't know it was possible for a shadow to hurt you.  
_ **

**_But Catra knew. She's always known, ever since she was a little kitten..._ **

**_How many times has she visited the Black Garnet Chamber? Too many, Adora._**

**_Lonnie joked she should just move her bunk there to cut down on travel time._ _You punched her in the gut for saying that._** **_Of course, you always defended Catra when there was no risk to yourself.  
_ **

**_Catra never talked about what happened in the chamber with anyone. Not even you._ **

**_But she STILL managed to find the courage up to leave, every single time._ **

**_Do you know what the difference between you and Catra is?_ **

**_Catra's a survivor. She knows how to endure. To fight. To resist.  
_ **

**_But you? You're not a survivor. You're an obeyer. Just like Catra said - you're a people-pleaser._ **

**_You haven't learned to endure pain, you've learned to avoid it by making powerful people like you, and being a good little Weaver's pet._ **

**_Now there's pain coming that you can't avoid_. _All your strength and tactics, the ones you get high scores for in the simulators, they don't count anymore._ **

**_Strength? Yeah, bring fists to a magic fight. See where that gets you. Maybe if you were eight-feet tall and could bench-press a tank, you'd stand a chance. But no. You're a little girl, barely out of training shorts._ **

**_And as for your so-called tactics? What, are you going to perform a f **lanking maneuver?** You and what army, Adora?_ **

**_You know you're a Weaver's pet, but have you ever realized before tonight just how much of yourself belongs to her?_ **

**_You want to be Force Captain because Weaver told you. You want to conquer Etheria because Weaver told you._ _You do things that are wrong and forgive things that should not be forgiven because Weaver told you._ **

**_You march the way she taught you, you tie your shoes the way she taught you, you comb your hair the way she taught you._ **

**_There isn't a single part of you that you made yourself._ **

**_All you are is Weaver's favorite._ **

**_And when she takes her favor away..._ **

**_...you'll be nothing._ **

"Adora?" said Lonnie, trying to reach her squad-mate through the fog of despair clouding her mind. Her brow creased with worry as Adora just absorbed the words to no effect. "Speak to me-" Lonnie caught herself. "Okay, I know you can't...just let me know you're listening..."

Adora didn't respond. She couldn't hear Lonnie properly. Her head was full of whispering shadows.

"Hey, look at _me_ ," said Catra, reaching down and waving a claw in Adora's pale, shivering face. "Come on, Adora, look at your kitty..."

Still no response. Adora just stared fixedly at the ground, lost in her own fear.

"Just give her a moment," said Catra, shooting a sideways glance at Lonnie.

"We don't _have_ a moment," said Lonnie to Catra, with breathless urgency. She knew it wouldn't be this easy, not when these two girlfriends were involved.

Slowly, and as respectfully as she could manage, Lonnie lowered her gaze to Adora's level. "Listen, Adora..." she whispered. "Weaver's gonna wait for half an hour...maybe less...and after that, she'll come and get you..."

Adora had a sudden vision of a faceless witch rushing through the hallways, dragging the darkness with her.

She knew Lonnie was right. There was no avoiding going to the Black Garnet Chamber, not unless she wanted to be dragged there like a prisoner. But fear had paralyzed her. Her thoughts kept being dragged back to her binding the previous night, how every nerve in her body was ablaze, right down to the tips of her toes, until she'd screamed so hard she'd almost suffocated.

The half-healed magic burns on her skin shivered, almost as if they could hear Adora thinking about them.

The whispering began again, only it wasn't in the back of her head anymore. It was at the very forefront of her mind.

**_When you defended Catra, you thought you understood the consequences.  
_ **

**_You thought Shadow Weaver would go easy. You thought you were strong enough. You thought wrong._ **

**_You're probably thinking, 'Hey, at least Weaver can't do anything worse to me!' But that's wrong too, Adora.  
_ **

**_How long were you bound for? How long did you spend on the floor, bawling like a baby?_ _Just a couple of minutes, at the most, and that was enough to reduce you to a blood-drooling wreck._ **

**_Now you have all night to scream, and Weaver's got a well of magical power to tap into at her fucking leisure._ **

**_She's not done punishing you yet. Not even fucking close._ **

**_You think things can't get any worse, but that's exactly what things are going to do._ **

**_Give up all your ideas about victory, or escape, or mercy._ **

**_Accept that she's going to hurt you._ **

**_Accept that she's going to make you sorry for challenging her._ _But first, she'll make you sorry you were ever born._**

**_You should be sorry._ **

Adora tried to gather herself, but it was like her mind had turned to dust and it was all slipping between her fingers.

She knew she was about to snap, but somehow being aware of this didn't do anything to slow down the slow, inexorable slide into madness. With no other options, Adora closed her eyes and tried to think of everything that made her happy. Catra safe and purring. Her squad ranked first in the battle sims. A ration bar fresh out of the wrapper. But all those things felt so far away, and the darkness was so close. It was inside of her, throbbing in her bitten tongue, her burned skin, and most of all in the aching void of her stomach. 

When the inner Adora's whispering picked up again it wasn't even inside her head anymore. It outside of her body as it was holding her tight, digging nails and tendrils into her flesh, and it was speaking straight into her ear.

 **_Go._ ** _**Staying here isn't gonna help anybody, yourself least of all. Put up and shut up.** _

**_You've had the whole day to rest and clear your head. If you're still not ready, you've only got yourself to blame.  
_ **

**_You think you're a hero. You think you deserve to be a captain. You think you deserve to lead people like Catra. But she puts up with this every day, while you can't even handle one lousy night._ **

**_Go._ **

**_Go now.  
_ **

**_Go now, or she'll make it worse.  
_ **

**_She'll make it worse and you'll deserve it._ **

**_You DO deserve this you spoiled, pathetic little coward._ **

**_All of this is your fault, do you know that?  
_ **

**_Shadow Weaver doesn't care about Lonnie, or Kyle, or Rogelio. And you_ know _she doesn't care about Catra._**

**_They're nothing to her. She only hurts them to get to you. To teach you a lesson. To test you.  
_ **

**_If you weren't part of this squadron, she'd leave them alone. No-one would be starved. No-one would be forced to beat each other. Everyone would be ordinary cadets with ordinary problems. Instead, they're scared and they're suffering and it's all because of you._ **

**_What did they ever do to deserve something as painful as this?_ **

**_Something as painful as you?_ **

**_You, the girl who brought Shadow Weaver into their lives. The girl who couldn't be happy being a normal cadet. The girl who had to be perfect and golden and be brilliant at everything and wanted to make Weaver happy even as she hurt the ones you love.  
_ **

**_Do you want to help your squad?_ **

**_Then go._ **

**_Go to Shadow Weaver. Ask her to punish you. Ask her to punish you in every way it is possible for a cadet to be punished until you're finally forgiven. And once you are, you get down on your knees and beg for her to transfer you somewhere. Anywhere but here._ **

**_It's the only way she'll leave them alone. It's the only way they'll be safe. They'll be happier without you.  
_ **

**_Your friendship isn't worth all this pain._ **

**_Catra will weep. But Shadow Weaver will have no reason to hurt her anymore._ **

**_Think of how relieved she'll be, getting to sleep in her own bed every night and not a cell. Being able to sit down without cringing. Not having to hide her bruises and burns in the shower._ ** **_You can give her all of that. You can make your kitten so happy._ **

**_But first, you have to go._ **

_**Let Weaver take you away and never return.** _

_**A monster like you deserves a monster like her.** _

_**Go.** _

Lonnie and Catra watched Adora with concern. They couldn't hear the storm of angry whispers in Adora's head, but they knew that a change had come over her. It showed in the way her clasped hands shivered in her lap and her bluebell-colored eyes glistened with barely contained tears. Lonnie reached over and rubbed Adora's back with her calloused palm in what she hoped was a comforting way.

"It'll be okay, Adora," mumbled Lonnie.

She saw Adora's throat working as she choked back sobs. Then, for a few seconds, Adora seemed to stop breathing entirely, before her eyes clenched shut and a long shuddering whimper escaped her throat. It was the worst thing Lonnie had ever heard. Adora sounded like a very young child again, like a whimper she'd swallowed down when she was three years old was now dragging itself back to the surface.

Catra bounded out of bed and knelt at Adora's feet. She folded her claws over Adora's shaking hands. They were cold.

"Adora," said Catra, softly. "Please." She gave Adora's hands a reassuring squeeze. "You'll get through this. You gotta be strong, remember?"

Suddenly, Adora's eyes flew open, and she sprang to her feet with such speed that Catra fell to the ground as if she'd been tackled. Lonnie recoiled at the unexpected burst of movement and would have joined Catra on the floor if she hadn't caught the bunk-post in time.

"A-Adora?" said Catra, her voice quivering with fear. Behind her, Lonnie mouthed 'what the fuck'.

Adora didn't react to either of them. Something very dark had possession of her mind. She marched round to the foot of the bunk, her eyes fixed on somewhere far away, her movements precise and urgent as if she was a warrior preparing for sudden battle.

"Adora, you're scaring me," said Catra, to no effect. It was as if Adora was sleepwalking.

She kneeled down, reached underneath the bunk, and pulled out three objects. Her jackboots, a brush, and her combat knife. She moved to the space between the bunks and dropped the jackboots and brush on the floor with a sound that echoed through the near-empty barracks, then jabbed the knife as hard as she could into a nearby bunk. The blade wedged in a gap between the metal plates and stuck there, quivering.

Then Adora took the boots in one hand, the large brush in the other, and started to shine them, buffing the dense black leather as fast as she could. As she worked, she began to cry. Her expression did not change, but shimmering tears grew in the corners of her unblinking eyes and started dribbling down her face.

Lonnie and Catra's eyes remained fixed on Adora, then slid towards each other to swap stares of mutual disbelief and terror.

"W-What's happening?" said Lonnie, as the sounds of Adora's furious boot-shining filled the room.

"I don't know..." muttered Catra, quietly.

They watched as the scuffs disappeared from the boot, then Adora grabbed the other and repeated the process.

Catra swallowed hard. "I think Adora's...getting ready to leave."

It took a moment for Lonnie to understand, but all at once, it dawned on her. Adora always made herself look presentable before she visited Shadow Weaver. She shined her boots, combed her hair, dusted her uniform, and even cleaned her fingernails. It made sense. Having a spotless uniform in Weaver's presence was as necessary to survival as wearing armor is on the battlefield. But Lonnie remembered laughing at the way Adora preened herself like a parade was about to happen.

Lonnie didn't feel like laughing now.

Sobs shook Adora's body as she slipped in one freshly-shined boot, then the next. Her shoulders jerked and shuddered with tearful hiccups as she got down on one kee to lace them up, drawing the knots so tight that it looked like she was garotting her own ankles. While she worked, teardrops pattered onto the metal floor.

"Adora?" said Catra, crawling a little closer, but not too close. Adora had a knife. "Please."

Catra may as well have spoken to a brick wall. Nothing was reaching Adora at the moment, not even the voice of the girl she loved.

When she was finished with the boots, Adora stood up and untied her ponytail. Her long blonde tresses fell around her shoulders, shining brightly even in the heavy dark of the barracks. She stared down at them with glistening eyes.

_**Golden threads for Weaver's golden cadet.** _

_**But you're not golden anymore.**_

_**You don't deserve them.** _

Adora reached up with one hand and twisted as much of her own hair into a single fist as she could, then pulled it tight as if she meant to rip it out of her own scalp like a stubborn weed. With her other hand, she reached out to pull the combat-knife out of the bunk-post, giving a tearful grunt as she wrenched the blade free.

It was a big knife. Standard-issue for all Horde orphans once they left Pre-Cadet Care. Adora kept its blade neat and clean just as she did with everything she owned. And now she was bringing it up to her head.

"Adora?" repeated Catra, her glowing eyes wide, her voice almost a whisper.

The blade flashed, and a mass of Adora's golden hair fell to the ground. Lonnie and Catra watched, paralyzed by shock, as Adora hacked at her own hair faster and harder as if it was an enemy which needed to be ruthlessly murdered. They couldn't believe what they were seeing was real. Only when a runnel of blood started to trickle down Adora's forehead did the spell finally break.

"Stop!" screamed Catra, leaping forward, throwing all of her weight into a single desperate pounce.

Her agile frame slammed into Adora's chest, instantly knocking her off-balance and sending them both sprawling onto the carpet of blonde hair on the floor. Lonnie just watched them, still numb with fear from the eyeballs down.

Catra entwined her body with Adora's in a desperate effort to hug her bunk-mate into submission. As they rolled around the barracks, the pain from the wounds on Catra's back was suddenly kicked up to 11, but Catra resisted the urge to let go. She didn't know what was happening to Adora, but Catra knew she wasn't going to let Adora hurt herself while she still had the energy to fight.

As they grappled each other, Catra managed to shoot a glance at Lonnie over the top of Adora's writhing body.

"The knife!" Catra shouted, her eyes wide.

Lonnie snapped out of her trance and sprung into action. She ran over to the entangled squad-mates and grabbed Adora's arm, forcing her fingers into the enclosed fist until she arrived at the knife handle. Lonnie wrenched the blade free with such force that she was propelled backward and slammed into the wall of the barracks. She slid down to the floor and clutched at her head, fresh pain shredding at her nerves.

Adora kicked and cried as Catra slowly pressed her into the ground as tight as possible. Tiny lights sparked in Catra's vision as her abused, weary muscles screamed in protest at the sudden exertion.

For an agonizing moment, Catra was reminded of when she was thirteen, and Adora had found her gouging open her forearms in the back of a forgotten vent. She'd kicked and cried just like this when Adora tried to hold her down and bandage her up, but no matter how uncontrollable Catra made herself, Adora never let go. She didn't give up on Catra then, and Catra wasn't going to give up on her now.

Slowly, Adora's strength began to crumble. Catra could feel Adora's muscles turn soft and her limbs buckled as she sunk lower and lower until finally, she was flat against the floor. Limp. Helpless. No longer crying out but heaving with shallow, painful breaths.

Catra stared down at Adora. At least, what Adora was still left. Her eyes were unfocused and clouded. The blood trickling from her forehead was a thin line of red against her pale white face. Her blonde hair was shorn and ragged to the point where she was almost unrecognizable.

And then more sadness came surging up, and Adora gave a watery sob. Catra's hands worked their way up Adora's back until they cradled her head, supporting it almost unconsciously, as if by reflex. Catra could feel Adora's torn-up hair. It was stiff and spikey against her palm.

As she felt Adora twitch beneath her, Catra was seized by a desire to say something, to offer Adora some kind of reassurance that the world hadn't ended, to kiss her neck and whisper in her ear something like 'It's okay'. But Catra knew this wasn't okay. This was wrong.

Then the lights went out. All of them.

Darkness fell like a shroud. Cold, unnatural darkness.

Suddenly the only noise Catra could hear was her heartbeat booming in her ears. Even the machines in the wall seemed to freeze in place. The shadows around the three cadets became edged with an angry glow as if a thousand pairs of gleaming red eyes had opened at once and turned to stare in their direction.

In the corner of the room, she could hear Lonnie gasp and start to cry.

Catra didn't even need to look up. She knew who was coming. She could see it in her mind. The figure gliding through the door, ribbons of shadow and blood-red robes flowing behind her, turning her deathly white eyes down at them both, then slowly curling her pale fingers into an enraged fist. And then she'd speak not in a voice but an ethereal hiss that pierced Catra's mind like a drill.

_"Let go of her."_

Catra's eyes stayed fixed on Adora.

She realized how it all looked to Shadow Weaver. Adora weeping and bleeding under her most detested cadet, with perfect blonde hair scattered over the floor, and Lonnie with a knife in her hands. Fear wasn't a strong enough word for the feeling that gripped Catra at that moment.

In her mind, she saw Shadow Weaver snuffing out her life with a single outburst of dark red binding-magic. She wanted to do it. There was no doubt about that. Part of Catra wanted to scream but _none_ of her wanted to let Adora go.

So she didn't. She held on and let the darkness descend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the most patient readers ever. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me on this journey so far. This chapter took a lot of tweaking and it's the longest I've written since I began this angst-pocalypse way back in ancient January. There were a lot of hard emotions involved and I hope I've done them justice. 
> 
> I think you all agree Adora isn't being fair to herself. But self-loathing doesn't play fair.


	17. The Chamber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content warning: suicide, self-harm mention, semi-bad-touch, physical, emotional abuse]
> 
> We must be brave.
> 
> Serious note: This is a particularly heavy chapter. It deals with themes of helplessness in the face of unjust and dishonest authority. I write about that because it makes for a compelling narrative, but I do not want to add to the emotional burden of readers who are already feeling helpless and overwhelmed by the fight for justice IRL.
> 
> So, if you're reading this, it's worth asking yourself whether you'd prefer to read some uplifting fluff or rewatch SPOP S5 or, hell, maybe donate to a good cause. There's enough cruelty to go around in real life without burdening yourself with the kind in this fic. No-one would blame you for taking a break. You owe it to yourself.

Adora lay there, head shorn, forehead bleeding, eyes glistening with tears. Her thoughts were a mess. The tiny fraction of her mind that wasn't frozen with trauma tried to make sense of the chaos unfolding around her, but it was a futile effort. The barracks - and reality in general - had become a nightmare.

Everything seemed unreal and ungraspable. Somebody was screaming close by, but to Adora's ears, it felt like the screams were coming from miles away. It was almost like she was experiencing the world from behind a smudged-up pane of bulletproof glass. Blurred images and muffled sounds were all around her. But even distorted as they were, Adora recognized them.

She could hear Catra, wheezing, gasping for breath. Lonnie, desperately begging. And Shadow Weaver, speaking with rage so furious that Adora could almost feel it, like heat from an incinerator. Adora lay listening to them all, feeling her heart break, and her mind break along with it.

"Ma'am I...I swear we...this isn't what it looks like..."

_"Silence."_

"Please...Catra wasn't - she was just trying to stop-"

_"Silence!"_

"No! Stop! I can explain everything! But please...let Catra go...she's not-"

An echoing slap. The sound of an old, red-gloved palm striking young, tear-streaked skin.

_"Calm yourself, cadet. Right now."_

A moment of silence passed. Lonnie took deep, shuddering breaths.

_"You have five seconds to explain yourself."_

"Adora was going to leave to...to see you in the Black Garnet Chamber, but then...she had a knife and then she was...she...she was..."

_"Spit it out."_

Lonnie's breath became quick and shallow. It was a while before she could bring herself to speak.

"...ma'am...she was _hurting_ herself-"

_"Hurting herself!?"_

"She was...I swear...Catra saw it too..."

_"Do you think I am a fool?"_

"No! Ask Catra, she'll tell you-"

_"What makes you think I'll believe that sick little beast?"_

"Ma'am, please! Listen to me! Adora was going to cut herself and if we hadn't been there, she'd-"

Another slap. Even harder. Hard enough to knock a pitiful yelp from Lonnie's mouth.

_"Shut up. Not another word."_

"Ma'am..."

_"You vile, traitorous brat..."_

"Please..."

_"I knew the beast would hurt Adora, but you, Lonnie? Is there no-one I can trust?"_

"No...ma'am...I wouldn't...Adora is my squad-mate...I would never hurt her-"

A painful, electric sound, like nails on a chalkboard. Lonnie choked as if a fist had closed around her throat.

_"Liar."_

"...no...no..."

_"I don't want to hear you speak. I don't even want to look at you."_

"...can't...please...it hurts..."

_"Hurt? You don't know what hurt is, Lonnie. You don't have the slightest idea."_

The sound got worse. It was now like a million nails on a million chalkboards. Lonnie was trying to scream, but the magic paralyzing her throat rendered her cries little more than tiny, high-pitched gurgles.

Adora couldn't take it anymore. This was too much. Even with hunger and trauma dulling her senses, there were just too many unbearable sounds trying to enter her thoughts at once. She wished she was deaf. And blind. She wished her brain was burned down to the stem so she wouldn't see or hear another moment of the brutality being inflicted on her innocent squad-mates.

The tiny remaining spark of life in Adora's mind was yelling at her to fight back, to help, to indicate through some tiny movement that Catra and Lonnie were innocent. To do something, anything.

Then the spark faded away.

Adora didn't fall unconscious, go to sleep, or even close her eyes. Her brain simply removed itself from reality like some helpless creature retracting into its shell.

Terror gripped her, but there was also a feeling of bitter, guilty relief. Whatever nightmare was raging in the outside world, it couldn't touch her in here. She was safe in her shell. Cut off. Shut out. Dissociated.

Soon Adora couldn't even feel the floor beneath her body. It felt like she was floating into the air. Unanchored from reality, Adora drifted through her subconscious hiding-spot for what seemed like hours. But there was no time in the shell. Just her and her thoughts. They made for unpleasant company.

_Look what you did_

_weaver's gonna kill them_

_they're innocent but she won't listen_

_she never listens_

_you led the shadow right to them_

_again_

_you got them in trouble you made her hurt them_

_again_

_and now you hide in here like a coward_

_dirty dirty coward_

Adora curled up tighter. The outside world had now dimmed to the point where everything was just darkness. Eventually, even her fear began to fade away, leaving only a sense of utter resignation.

She had gotten used to dark places. The void had become an old, familiar friend. How many times had she blacked out today? First on the floor of the barracks, then in the shower rooms, then during her short-lived attempts to sleep in Catra's arms. A lack of food and an abundance of corporal punishment had greased Adora's grasp on consciousness. Each time she fell asleep, the void got darker and emptier. Adora couldn't believe she wasn't dead yet.

_Maybe I am dead._

That thought should have scared her too, but it didn't. It made sense, in a twisted kind of way. Adora's very first memory had been the feeling of being a tiny child cradled in the arms of an enormous shadow, and now a huge shadow would be very last memory too. It felt natural, like some kind of cycle coming to an end.

_Maybe I'm back where I belong_

_Maybe I never left the shadow's arms in the first place_

_Maybe everything in my life has all been_

_a dream_

_or a nightmare_

_Maybe I'll wake up somewhere better_

_no battle sims no angry officers no crying squad-mates_

_no shadows following me_

_But I hope it'll still have ration bars_

_and a Catra_

_to_

_share one with_

After what seemed like infinity, Adora felt small bits of reality pierce her mental shell.

The first was the feeling of hands clutching her body. Hands that were unmistakeably gentle, but so cold it felt like there was no blood in them at all. Like the hands of a dead woman.

Then she felt weightless. As if being carried. The hands were on her body again. Fingers, thin and spindly as the legs of some monstrous insect, traced her limbs and dug into the flesh of her wrist and neck. Searching for arteries. Checking her pulse. Examining her.

Tiny lights slid past the edges of Adora's glassy, dissociated eyes as if she was moving down a hallway. There was a change in the atmosphere. The sounds of rattling machinery were replaced with a distant, echoing buzz. The air had a dark frisson to it that made the tiny hairs on Adora's body stand on end.

She was cold.

So cold.

Adora felt the urge to wrap herself up in a blanket. She curled up tighter, trying to shut out the biting chill, but suddenly her body went slack. Like a puppet with severed strings. Her brain wasn't in control anymore. Some unseen magical will was guiding her now. Adora started to shiver violently as her Horde uniform was gently pulled off her body. Goosebumps rose on her now-exposed skin.

Each new sensation eroded the shell around Adora's mind a little bit more. Eventually, hairline cracks appeared through her mental shell. Adora tried to whisper through them in an effort to determine whether it was safe to come out. As she spoke, her bitten tongue mangled the words into small, childish noises.

"Cat-ruh..."

_"Hush, Adora, hush..."_

"Luh-nee..."

_"They're gone. Both of them."_

"No...no..."

_"Hush, child, it's alright..."_

Adora twitched uneasily. It was not alright.

The next few moments were a flurry of unknown sensations and noises. Adora heard the low, thundering sound of water being poured into a metal container. Adora could smell the chemicals in the water and feel the cold coming off of it. Then she felt herself being lowered and sunk midriff-deep into a freezing bath.

The icy water bit deep, piercing Adora's body down to the bone. She could feel misty air caressing the back of her neck where her ponytail used to be. For a brief moment, she Adora felt soothed. The water embraced her and numbed her bruises. Then Adora's mind was suddenly ambushed by a chorus of panicked questions.

_Where am I? Where are my clothes? Why the fuck am I sitting in a bathtub? Am I going to be drowned?_

_Where's Lonnie? Where's Catra?_

Then what felt like an entire gallon of water hit Adora's head like a hammer, silencing the questions running riot in her head. Her mind reeled as her mental shell came crashing down around her. She found herself sat bolt upright in a large metal tub, hugging her knees tight to her chest and staring blankly into the distance. Empty space surrounded her on all sides, but she was not alone. Adora could feel angry eyes burning into her.

Adora looked up and saw Shadow Weaver stood carrying an upturned and dripping bucket in a dark tendril. The sorceress let the bucket drop to the floor with an echoing clang, then hurriedly removed her elbow-length red gloves and placed them beside Adora's neatly folded uniform.

Despite the burning urge to flee, Adora did not move. She felt like prey being regarded by a cold-blooded predator. One sudden movement and her life would be over. This anxiety escalated to white-hot fear as Adora sensed Shadow Weaver kneeling down behind her, inches from her bare body.

Adora felt the magical corruption trapped under her skin began to twitch as it fought to rejoin the nimbus of dark magic swirling slowly around Shadow Weaver's body. She found herself yearning for unconsciousness again. The silent darkness of her mental shell didn't seem so bad compared to this hungry, living darkness.

She felt scared. She felt sick. She didn't know where she was or what was going to happen to her or if Lonnie and Catra were okay - or if they were even still alive.

 _They are,_ Adora told herself. _They're alive. They can't be dead._

Then Shadow Weaver took what appeared to be an ancient-looking cloth, swished it around in the water, and applied it to Adora's now blood-matted hair. Adora's blank eyes widened as Weaver's intentions became clear. The sorceress was trying to clean her.

Her head nodded as Weaver scrubbed it, washing away the matted blood. Adora felt curiously weightless. Probably because most of her hair was now lying on the floor of the barracks. She still couldn't believe what was happening. Shadow Weaver hadn't even washed her when she was a baby.

Adora was suddenly seized by a desire to haul herself upright, kick Shadow Weaver's mask off and the sorceress to keep her cold, dead hands to herself. But Adora knew that would have been suicide. So she sat there and submitted while shame smoldered in the pit of her empty stomach.

Catra had told her it was important to face Shadow Weaver on her own two feet when she was being punished. But here Adora was, naked and sitting in a freezing cold bathtub as if she was little more than a powerless infant.

What would Catra say if she saw her like this?

Adora shuddered. Just thinking about Catra at a time like this was agony.

_Please be alive, she repeated in her head. Please be okay, Lonnie. Please be safe, Catra. Please._

_I'm not scared of Weaver. She can hurt me as much as she wants. She can keep me in a cell and bind me every day, and I won't care. But if she's killed you...I'll...I'll..._

Chills shuddered down Adora's backbone. Her mind was a wreck and having Weaver touching her was not fucking helping. The sorceress was furious and, for want of better targets, she was releasing her stress onto Adora, as if she was determined to scrub the poor cadet's head clean off her shoulders. It was as if Adora was some jealously guarded treasure that had been marred by a thief's fingerprints and Shadow Weaver was trying to get her to shine again.

 _"Filthy animals,"_ Shadow Weaver muttered to herself. _"Look at you. Look at what they've done..."_

She wrung out the cloth, then produced a vial from the depths of her robe. She poured its contents on the ornate fabric and brought it up to the cuts on the back of Adora's scalp. It stung. A lot. Adora couldn't suppress her whimper of pain.

Shadow Weaver's eyes flashed. _"Quiet,"_ she growled, teeth gritted behind her mask. _"It's just disinfectant."_

The cleaning proceeded. Soon strands of blonde hair were floating in the frigid bathwater and the bloodstains slowly disappeared from Adora's scalp. But Weaver continued to wring out the cloth, drag it over Adora's head, and repeat the process over and over again even though the blood was long gone. Adora winced as Shadow Weaver's rough scrubbing continued to jerk her head back and forth.

 _"Despicable. Utterly despicable,"_ murmured Shadow Weaver. _"It's bad enough you share a bunk with her, but to see in her claws like that, I-"_ She paused as if the recollection made her physically sick. _"I'm not stopping until I get this stink off of you. I cannot conduct tonight's ritual with you smelling of...her."_

Adora blinked. What did she mean, 'ritual'?

She hugged her knees tighter to her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible, wishing she could disappear. She felt a sob crawling up her throat and knew that it would just make Weaver angrier but she could not help it. A tearful hiccup escaped Adora's lips, then the sound of Weaver wringing out the washcloth stopped. Sharp nails pressed into her tender scalp.

 _"Don't you dare, Adora,"_ hissed Shadow Weaver.

Driven by an instinctive fear of disobedience that somehow persisted in spite of everything, Adora swallowed her tears.

She closed her eyes and tried to gather as much of her strength as possible. She was in pain, and not from her ungentle grooming at the hands of Shadow Weaver. It was the fear - the certainty - that Catra and Lonnie were in danger that tortured her.

Shadow Weaver had given Catra six long, miserable days in the cells when she believed that Catra had scratched her on purpose. If the sorceress believed that Catra had taken a knife to Adora's scalp, and with the aid of a squad-mate, no less, then the consequences would make a week of starvation look lenient in comparison.

She might kill them. She might have already killed them.

Adora knew Shadow Weaver could take someone's life as easily as she could snap her fingers. Just one second, that's all it would have taken. Just long enough for the bolt of red magic to fly from Weaver's fingertips and stab into Lonnie and Catra's bodies, then that would be it. The girls she'd supported and loved and been loved by and supported by in turn would be gone.

 _No,_ thought Adora. _No, no, no, no._

_I didn't see them die. I heard them cry out but cries just proved they were still breathing. There's still hope. Shadow Weaver has power but she can't kill cadets on a whim. Even she has to obey protocol. Lonnie and Catra are just in the cells. Scared and injured but still alive and still possible to save._

_And I'm going to save them. Even if it kills me._

When Adora opened her bluebell-colored eyes they were hardened and still. Shadow Weaver noticed Adora's sudden change of emotion, and it seemed to appease her. The dark tendrils extruding from her body ceased their angered twitching.

 _"There,"_ said Shadow Weaver, who resumed scrubbing. Her tone was still cold, but warmer than it had been before. _"Was that so hard?"_

Adora remained still.

 _"Child, you have no right to feel sorry for yourself,"_ said Shadow Weaver. _"I gave you the chance to beat that little beast into submission, and you threw it back in my face."_

Anger lit a fire under Adora's brain, but she forced herself not to react, even as Weaver leaned closer and whispered into her ear,

_"Bet you wish you'd given her the belt while you had the chance, don't you?"_

Adora hugged herself even tighter until she could almost rest her chin on her knees. Weaver regarded her once-golden-cadet with a look of concern, then tutted sadly and slid her palm down the pale, bruised skin of Adora's back in what she believed to be a comforting way. It made Adora want to throw up.

 _"I suppose I should have seen this coming,"_ said Shadow Weaver. _"When one cadet exceeds their peers, it always creates...underlying tension. The starvation must have bought it to the surface. I knew it was only a matter of time before Catra turned on you, but Lonnie..."_

Shadow Weaver gave a heavy sigh and patted Adora on the shoulder.

 _"I know how you must feel right now, Adora,"_ she whispered. _"I know how painful it is to be betrayed. You may not believe me, but I had friends, once."_

Adora shuddered. Weaver was right. She didn't believe her.

 _"You look at me now, and all you see are shadows, but I was a girl like you. And I had those I considered allies. People who I never suspected would hurt me,"_ Her grip tightened. _"But alas, they did. I asked myself: How could I have been so blind? So weak? To let myself trust those small-minded fools? And just like that my eyes were opened."_

Cold pale-green fingers found Adora’s chin and tipped her head back until she had no choice but to make eye-contact. Adora stared up helplessly into Shadow Weaver's mask. The eye holes were black pits that reached out at her, trying to pull her into their depths.

_"If you rely on others for strength, then you will never be strong."_

Her grip loosed. Adora seized the opportunity to resume staring into space with gratitude.

 _"But you see, Adora, there is an advantage to all this,"_ said Shadow Weaver. _"I didn't learn the folly of trust until I was a grown woman, and when I finally did, I had...so much to lose..."_ She paused. _"You are in your youth. Better that you make your mistakes here rather than the battlefield. I will always be here to set your head straight. Speaking of which..."_

Shadow Weaver rose to her full height, smoothed her dress, and glided eerily away from the bathtub. The surrounding nimbus of hungry darkness left with her, and the rest of the room became visible. Adora winced as a sudden burst of crimson light attacked her eyes.

Adora knew exactly where she was now. The Black Garnet Chamber.

The Garnet was the first thing Adora saw. The huge, misshapen crystal was the only source of light in the room. It glowed with a furious internal energy that tinted everything around it the color of blood. The cold metal floor. The pipeworks on the walls. The water in the bathtub. Adora's terrified face. They were all bright red.

The Black Garnet flared at Shadow Weaver's approach. The dark metal structures built to channel the Garnet's power began to buzz and rattle and send bolts of lurid red energy forking through the air. Shadow Weaver caught one of the bolts in her outstretched hand. It coursed down her arm and earthed itself in her body and she exhaled with grim satisfaction at the sudden influx of magical power.

Adora held herself tighter as the sorceress turned around and regarded her with renewed intensity. It would have been scary enough if Weaver had looked angry. But she didn't.

She looked happy.

 _"We have much to talk about, Adora,"_ said Shadow Weaver, brightly. _"Which means I have to heal that bitten tongue of yours."_ She gave a pensive sigh. _"Though I have enjoyed seeing you voiceless, Adora. It reminds me of when you were much younger."_ A quiet laugh came from behind her mask. _"You were so much easier to deal with back then..."_

Shadow Weaver knelt by the side of the bathtub. She filled Adora's sight like a dark cloud, quiet and distant but ready to spit red lightning at any moment.

 _"Open your mouth,”_ she demanded.

Adora’s body seemed to obey of its own accord. Then, before Adora even had the chance to move, Shadow Weaver’s fingers had slipped past her lips to hold her tongue in a cold and unwelcome grip. Adora felt every single one of her internal organs cringe at the same time.

_“Good girl."_

Then there was a spark of red light and a long sizzling sound that filled Adora’s mouth, like something red-hot being quenched in water. Weaver pulled her fingers free and Adora’s hands flew to her lips, gagging with fear and disgust until she began to feel the pain of her ruined tongue start to dissolve.

Adora suddenly realized the bite-mark was closing itself as if weeks of recovery were being condensed into a few moments. In less than a minute, she was completely healed.

Adora's jaw worked as she tested out her regrown tongue. The new flesh was smooth and slick, like a stretch mark. She was struck with mixed feelings. It was good not to taste her own blood anymore, but the fact that Shadow Weaver could manipulate her body so easily, even for something positive, was terrifying.

 _“Can you speak now?”_ asked Shadow Weaver.

Adora swallowed as she tried to revive her neglected voice-box. She had so many things she wanted to say to Shadow Weaver, so many desperate pleas and promises to make. But those could wait. Adora's fear for Catra and Lonnie was at the forefront of her mind, sweeping away everything except a desire to protect them. When Adora spoke, her throat burned and she barely had any breath to put behind her words, but her voice was still firm.

“It was me."

Shadow Weaver gave a burdened sigh. _"That is not the question I asked, Adora."_

"It was me," repeated Adora. She gently uncurled her hand from around her knees and gestured to the rough-shorn spot where she'd taken a knife to her own hair. "I did this to myself. Catra, Lonnie, they tried to stop me. They were trying to help. They're innocent."

Silence echoed through the chamber like ripples in a pond after a rock has been thrown into it. The only sounds were the hum of the Black Garnet and the slow drip of water trickling off Adora's bare body and into the bathtub. Then Shadow Weaver reached forward and gently caressed Adora’s cheek.

 _“Oh, Adora…”_ said Weaver. The blade-like edge to her voice had softened. It was now almost maternal. _"You poor thing. This is so much worse than I thought."_

Adora leaned into the cold, lifeless palm. Hope sparked in her heart. Shadow Weaver seemed to have actually listened to her confession. Maybe the sorceress would for once understand how her student was struggling. The fear that burned inside Adora's stomach faded away...

 _“I knew you were weak for that little animal,"_ cooed Shadow Weaver. _"But the idea that you would **lie** to protect her, that is truly devastating…”_

The fear reignited with a vengeance. Adora twitched as she fought to control herself.

“I’m not lying,” said Adora. She noticed she had stopped shivering, even though she was still up to her chest in freezing cold water. Anger was giving her warmth.

 _"Yes, you are,"_ said Shadow Weaver, touching a gaunt finger to Adora's pale cheek. _"You lie about everything, Adora."_

Adora barely resisted the urge to smack the finger away. "I've never lied to you."

Shadow Weaver gave a gentle, joyless laugh. _"I seem to recall a little girl promising me she'd try to make Catra a better cadet. She promised me, against all evidence, that Catra was a good girl. And now she sits here, mauled by the very beast she tried to tame, still giving me the same old lie. That it's not Catra's fault..."_ Shadow Weaver gave another gentle, joyless laugh. _"It...amuses me..."_

The desire to talk back rose and fell in Adora's mind. Her nails dug into the bare flesh of her knees.

_"I might have believed you if you said it was an accident, but the idea that you would cut your own hair with a combat-knife? Come now, Adora, I've known you to be disobedient, but never stupid..."_

"But I was being stupid," said Adora, very quietly. "That's the truth."

 _"Is that so?"_ replied Shadow Weaver, in that same bitter, mocking tone. _"Then why would my best student do something so idiotic? Didn't you know you'd hurt yourself?"_

"I did know," said Adora. Her eyes started glistening. "I wanted it to hurt."

Weaver tilted her eerie, masked head inquisitively. _"Why?"_

A painful lump grew in Adora's throat. “I was...angry at myself,” she said, in a small voice. That was all she was prepared to admit.

Shadow Weaver was silent for a while. _"Why?"_ she repeated, in a lower, more threatening tone.

Adora swallowed her sobs again. Her inner feelings were like a shivering, sensitive bundle of nerves and she was frightened to show them to someone as cruel as Shadow Weaver, but what choice did she have? Weaver had to know the truth. She had to understand.

"Because I disobeyed you," she replied. "And my squadron have suffered because of me." She paused for a moment, feeling the now-bare skin on the back of her neck tingling. "I wanted to destroy myself, so you'd never have to punish them again. So the squadron would be safe...from me..."

There was another tense pause. Then, to Adora's horror, Shadow Weaver laughed. She laughed as if Adora had said something childish and embarrassing. It was almost like the sorceress was teasing her.

 _"I don't believe a word of it,"_ said Shadow Weaver, in a soft but sinister voice. _"You're trying to manipulate me, Adora. Manipulation will serve you well in the ranks of the Force Captains, but I am not that easy to fool. It is clear to me you're just making excuses for those vile squad-mates of yours."_

"No," said Adora, as panic started to set in. She had just opened her heart to Weaver and the sorceress didn't believe her. "No, I'm not-"

 _"I told you a long time ago that Catra would hurt you,"_ continued Shadow Weaver, cutting her off. _"And now she finally has, you cannot concede I was right. Your emotions won't let you, so you concoct this embarrassing story about cutting yourself. Which is why it is so important that my ritual sets your head straight-"_

"What did you do with them?" asked Adora, cutting Shadow Waver off in return.

The interruption took the sorceress by surprise, but her astonishment was unreadable behind her eerie mask. Adora froze, having surprised herself with her own disobedience. She felt like she was going to start blubbering and begging forgiveness from Shadow Weaver, but she held fast. Enough panic. Get a grip.

"Catra, Lonnie," Adora continued. "In the barracks, I heard you...hurting them. Where are they?"

Shadow Weaver did not answer. She drummed her fingers on Adora's scalp.

Tears stung the edges of Adora's eyes. She held them back. "Please tell me they're okay," she whispered. "Please...I'm not asking you to believe me, or forgive me, just tell me where they are..."

Her plea was met only with more icy silence. It seemed like a long time before anyone spoke.

 _"Considering the position you are in, Adora..."_ said Shadow Weaver, finally. _"...speaking without being spoken to is very unwise."_

"Shadow Weaver, tell me where my squad is-"

A solid blow landed on the back of Adora's head. When Weaver's skeletal palm connected with the cuts on Adora's scalp, the resulting burst of pain made lights dance in front of the young cadet's eyes. Adora had to bite her lip to stop herself from crying out.

Shadow Weaver did not move, but the shadows around her seemed to curl and twitch like a nest of agitated snakes. Some of them seemed to grow mouths just so they could hiss angrily. Adora could tell she'd pissed the sorceress off something fierce, but she didn't care.

 _"That's **ma'am** to you, Adora,"_ growled Shadow Weaver.

They both sat quietly. Adora stared into the bathwater and saw Shadow Weaver's blurry red reflection staring back at her from over her shoulder, her torch-like eyes shining on the surface of the water. She stared at it miserably.

Bitter experience had taught Adora that Shadow Weaver refused tearful pleas for mercy as a matter of principle. Weaver respected only two things in the world. Obedience, and strength. As of tonight, obedience had been thrown out of the window, so if Adora had any hope of resisting Weaver, she'd have to be strong.

How exactly Adora was going to be strong while freezing wet and naked was beyond her. But she would not give up hope.

Nothing Shadow Weaver could do to her at this moment was more painful than not knowing Lonnie and Catra's fate. That was all that mattered to Adora. She wanted nothing more than to submit and obey Shadow Weaver, but not like this, not at the expense of her squadron. Adora's young, traumatized mind reeled as she realized that the next few minutes would decide the rest of her life.

If Lonnie and Catra were still alive, then Adora would proceed with her original plan. Surrender to Shadow Weaver. Get transferred. Let her kitten and long-suffering squadron lead normal lives free of shadows and glory-seeking golden cadets like her.

If they were dead, well...

...then Adora would have nothing to lose.

 _"I think your senses have been compromised by Catra's assault,"_ said Shadow Weaver. Her voice was slow and methodical. _"So I am prepared to overlook this lapse in discipline."_

"Why won't you just tell me?" said Adora. She hugged her legs even tighter, feeling the cold bathwater numbing her muscles. "Is this part of my punishment?"

 _"Oh, no, I haven't even begun your punishment yet,"_ snapped Shadow Weaver, and Adora knew she was smiling under her mask. _"I'm not telling you because it is irrelevant. We are here for your development, not theirs."_

"But..." protested Adora. "They're my squad-mates."

Shadow Weaver sighed. _"You will have other squadrons, Adora,"_ she lectured. _"The Fright Zone holds thousands of their kind. They can be replaced. They do not matter."_

The fires of anger blazed into life inside Adora's head. "They matter to me, ma'am. And they should matter to you, too."

Shadow Weaver's eyes flashed again. _"Why exactly would a disobedient animal and some nameless cannon-fodder matter to me?"_

"Because if you've killed innocent cadets, Hordak will execute you."

Shadow Weaver stared down at her, eyes glowering, and Adora was certain that the sorceress wanted to hurt her as she had before in the barracks. If she were any other cadet, Shadow Weaver would have bound her head-to-toe in agonizing magic by now. Instead, she grabbed Adora by the scruff of the neck and yanked her head backward. The cuts on Adora's scalp seared white-hot in protest.

_"Are you threatening me, cadet?"_

"No," said Adora, gritting her teeth. "But I know you don't have all the power. I know there are rules even you have to follow."

_"Hordak cares not for the lives of two cadets. You would be just as likely to feel his wrath as me."_

"I only care about my squadron," snarled Adora. "If they're dead, I don't care what happens to me, and I don't care what happens to you."

Adora's head was yanked backward into the tub. The bathwater rose up to meet her, and suddenly Adora was fully submerged in the icy, chemical fluid. She fought against Weaver's grip by instinctive survival reflex, but she was weak and starving and Shadow Weaver, thin as she was, had the power of a runestone behind her. She held the cadet's head under the water with ease.

The Black Garnet Chamber echoed to the sounds of splashing water, then weak metallic thuds as Adora tried, and failed, to wrench her head above the surface, her legs kicking, her back arching. Then there was a choking, bubbling sound. Then there was silence.

Shadow Weaver slowly counted to ten, then heaved Adora upright. Her soaking, badly-shorn head broke the surface tension of the bath in an explosion of water and desperate gasping. Her hands gripped the sides of the tub for dear life as she sucked in deep, shuddering breaths, trying to quench the flames burning in her lungs. Shadow Weaver watched her with unsympathetic eyes.

 _"You listen to me, child,"_ growled Shadow Weaver. _"I said I would hurt you tonight, and I do not make idle threats. Tonight's ritual will be excruciating, and that's all there is to it. So I have been kind, Adora. Have I not healed you? Have I not been kind to you?"_

A million different answers, all variations on the word 'no', swarmed Adora's half-drowned brain. Thankfully, she was too busy gasping precious oxygen to answer.

_"I could have thrown you in the cells to bleed after last night. But I didn't. I let you pull yourself together. I have tried to make sure to you will endure the ritual at your full emotional strength. But if you continue to act in this disgusting manner, I will break you. It is your choice, child."_

There was a pause that Weaver clearly intended to make the words sink in. Adora's expression did not change.

"You killed them," said Adora, between heavy breaths. "I know you have. That's why you won't tell me."

White lights flared in the sockets of Weaver's mask. _"Adora, stop,"_ she hissed.

"Murderer."

_"I'm telling you-"_

"You murdered them. You lost control and you murdered Lonnie and Catra."

_"Stop now, or I'll-"_

"Just like Octavia," said Adora. She was trembling again, but her voice stayed sharp. "You didn't care about truth or discipline or making them better cadets, you just wanted to hurt them."

 _"Hold your tongue,"_ growled Shadow Weaver. _"I am nothing like Octavia,"_ she added, and Adora noticed the small tone of wounded pride entering Weaver's voice. She'd found the sorceress' weak spot. Now attack. Attack. Attack.

"No," Adora clenched her eyes shut. "You're worse than Octavia. At least Octavia doesn't pretend to love us."

Shadow Weaver seemed to be at a loss for words. Either that or she was genuinely speechless with anger. Either way, Adora wasn't going to stop now. She'd thrown herself headfirst over the line and there was nothing to be gained by hesitating. She was done pretending.

"All we ever want to do is make you proud." Adora had her breath back now, and the rage was burning again. Like a flamethrower in her throat. "But you'll never be satisfied. Not until Catra's gone and I'm as cold and lonely and dead inside as you are."

Adora anticipated that would have finally sent Shadow Weaver over the edge. She sat in the bath and waited for the moment the chamber would fill up with a tempest of howling shadow-beasts and binding-magic. Instead, the sorceress sat perfectly still. She didn't even rise from her knees. Adora sat there and realized she'd just entered the eye of the storm.

 _"You are out of your mind, child,"_ said Shadow Weaver, speaking as much to herself as to Adora. _"You are at risk of wasting everything you've worked so hard to achieve. You are too important to be allowed to...be yourself. You need my ritual."_

"Do your stupid ritual, if you think it'll help," said Adora. "It won't change anything. You'll still be a murderer."

The dark creatures swirling around Shadow Weaver clawed at the walls, straining against the Black Garnet Chamber like chained-up monsters scenting prey, but the Shadow Weaver stood completely still, seemingly unfazed.

Adora turned to look at the sorceress. Her spectral eyes had changed, as only Shadow Weaver's eyes could, into dots of cold sadness. Adora felt her heart swell. She wished she could have given Weaver the pure hatred she deserved, but it was impossible. Not after Weaver had taught her to read and tie her shoes and hold her head high and in a thousand small ways had shown Adora there was something behind that mask other than darkness and pain.

"You know they're innocent, don't you?" said Adora. "You don't care. You've always wanted an excuse to get rid of Catra. And Lonnie was just in the wrong place at the wrong time." Her gaze fell into the tub, where the water was blood-red as it reflected the Garnet's light. "Because the Horde's not about truth." Tears dropped into the bathwater with little ripples. "It's about winning."

There were a few moments of silence before Weaver said: _"I am not a murderer."_

"Then prove it to me," said Adora, her voice thick with emotion. "Prove it. Show me Lonnie and Catra are okay, and I'll obey you. I'll do everything you want. I'll follow you until the day I die, but please just...prove you're not a monster..."

 _“I don't have to prove anything to you, child,"_ said Shadow Weaver, putting a delicate but still noticeable emphasis on the word 'child'.

Shadow Weaver held up her open palm. Bolts of dark red energy snapped across the gaps between her spindly fingers. Adora swallowed hard as she felt the tendrils mottling her skin writhe again, eager to return to the dark magic from whence they came. She wanted to curl up into a protective, fetal ball, but she didn't even have the strength to sit upright.

Adora looked up and saw shadows congregating around her. Their oil-black serpentine bodies arched as if to strike down at any moment.

"I can't take another binding..." said Adora, forcing her voice to seem steady. "...I'll die. I'll die on _purpose."_

 _"I'm not going to bind you, Adora,"_ said Shadow Weaver. Her voice was slower and full of mourning. _"I'm just going to heal your mind. Just like I healed your tongue."_ Then she pressed a cold hand to Adora's forehead and her voice dropped into a dark, sibilant whisper. _"But you are going under the water again. And again. And again. For as long as it takes."_

Slowly, almost gently, Adora felt herself being pushed down below the surface of the bathwater. She didn't even have time to take a deep breath.

She submerged, her ears popped, and what little light there was in the Black Garnet chamber was snuffed out. The bottom of the tub seemed to drop away as she sunk deeper and deeper until the midriff-deep water became an endless dark trench in which she was descending like a stone cast into a well. She looked up and could still see the mouth of the bathtub gleaming above her like a small, blurry circle of red light.

Then that vanished too, and only darkness remained.

Old, familiar darkness.


	18. The Ritual (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content warning: implied / actual physical abuse, psychological abuse, gaslighting, suicide mention]
> 
>  _I would forget it fain; But, O, it presses to my memory, like damned guilty deeds to a sinners mind._ Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act III, Scene II  
>   
> As you can probably guess from the title, this chapter is being divided into two. Don't worry, you won't have to wait a month for the second part, it should be up in less than a week. For those of you who've stuck with this angst-fest since January, be warned. This chapter is going to get a little "abstract". We're in the final act of this sad little fic and I want to give you all a climax that's worthy of all your support and readership these past six months. The tale of these poor starving kids is nearing its ending.
> 
> Will it be a happy one?
> 
> Well...

_Slowly, the broken shards of what had once been Adora's mind pulled themselves together and drifted up through the freezing emptiness of sleep. Adora woke up in bed. She looked around, blinking hard until the world faded into focus._

_She couldn't believe her eyes. She was back in her barracks._

_Her barracks. Her boring, predictable, comfortably routine barracks with the same old pipes in the walls and the same old bunks filled with the same old sound of snoring and shifting from the same old sleepy-headed Horde kids. It was like she'd never left._

_Adora's gaze ran from bunk to bunk. Lonnie was spread out over her blanket, somehow managing to look grumpy even when she was fast asleep. Kyle lay faceplanted into his pillow, snoring at a volume that belied his small size. Rogelio had curled his tail around himself to form an almost-spherical bundle of sleepy lizard._

_Joy warmed Adora's heart. She lay back and exhaled with relief at the sight of her squadron safe and sound, then paused._

_Why was she relieved? What reason did she have to think they’d be in danger? Her squad-mates were always in their bunks after lights-out, weren’t they? That was were all good cadets belonged when they didn't have Horde History lessons or drills in the battle sim. Good cadets needed a good night’s sleep, so they’d have lots of energy to crush the Rebellion, that’s what Weaver always said…_

_…why did that name make Adora feel so scared?_

_She could vaguely recall feeling like she was in deep trouble, but that didn't make any sense. Shadow Weaver had been in a good mood recently. It'd been almost a week since she'd last made Catra cry, and Adora was being extra obedient to keep this state of affairs going for as long as she could._

_Adora's tongue felt around the inside of her mouth. There was a gap in her front baby teeth. For some reason, it took her by surprise. She reached down under the blankets and felt her own legs. She wasn’t sure why, but she expected them to be longer and covered in scars or burns. It was weird._

_She was…eight years old. But in her head, she’d felt older. Fifteen? Sixteen? Adora shuddered. She’d seen what happened to cadets at that age. So lanky and stinky and mean to everybody. And the_ pimples. _So gross. She hoped she’d stay eight forever._

_Adora wracked her brain. There was something else in her head she couldn’t account for. Something about being really hungry for ration bars, shivering in the cold, dreading something, dreading someone, and then darkness. But those half-remembered nightmares faded away when Adora heard a familiar voice whisper urgently from the foot of the bed._

_“Don’t move.”_

_Chills crawled up Adora’s backbone. “What?” she whispered._

_“I said don’t move!”_

_Adora froze. Her gaze slid to the end of the bed._

_Catra was there, perched on all fours with a look of intense concentration on her face. Her wide blue-gold eyes were fixed on something unseen in the corner of the barracks._

_Suddenly there was a shuffling sound. Catra’s ears twitched._

_“There,” she whispered, without turning around. “Look, Adora…”_

_Shivering with anticipation at what she might see, Adora looked. But her eyes saw only darkness._

_Adora frowned. Sometimes Catra forgot not everybody had feline night-vision like her. But then there was another squeak and something lean and furry scurried out of the shadows. Adora saw beady red eyes and teeth like tiny yellow chisels._

_A rat!_

_Only a select few animals were mean enough to survive in the Fright Zone, and rats were one of them. They made nests in the wires and chewed their way into ration dispensers. Everyone found them annoying, but Catra just found them tasty._

_Catra stuck her butt in the air, wiggled a little, then pounced. The rat was fleeing at maximum speed before Catra hit the ground, but she was soon in hot pursuit. The magicat’s claws skittered on the slippery metal flooring as she gave chase around and around the barracks._

_“Get em, Catra! Get em!” cheered Adora._

_Spurred on by her bunk-mate and an instinctive desire to obliterate everything that squeaked, Catra scampered after the rat as fast as her limbs could carry her. She persued the fleeing vermin in an endless circle around the barracks, leaping over pipes and scrambling under the bunk-beds without even slowing down._

_“W-What’s going on?” cried Kyle as he pushed himself upright. He crawled under his blanket and held a pillow over his head. “Are the Princesses invading?”_

_“No, it’s just Catra!” hissed Lonnie, rubbing her eyes. “Knock it off, you idiot, it’s too late to play games!”_

_"Go, Catra!" Adora persisted, pumping her fist in the air. "Kick that rat's butt!"_

_Lonnie narrowed her eyes at Adora. "Don't encourage her!"_

_Adora ignored the admonition. She was too busy admiring Catra. The kitty's head was totally in the hunt. She was so blindly invested in catching her prey that when the rat jumped up onto Kyle's pillow-covered head, Catra saw no reason not to follow._

_Kyle squealed as the rat made its way over his bunk, then squealed even louder as he was squashed into the hard barrack mattress by Catra._

_"Don't eat me!" he cried, curling up into the fetal position._

_"Play dead, Kyle!" advised Adora as she clambered out of bed._

_Just when it seemed like Kyle was about to have a heart attack, Catra and the panicking rat skittered down the bunkposts to continue the chase across Rogelio's bed. The lizard boy gave a high-pitched growl and swiped at the passing kitten, but Catra was already jumping away, eager to get the rat between her fangs. As they zoomed past Lonnie's bunk, Catra made a deliberate detour to jump on Lonnie's stomach._

_"Ow!" squealed Lonnie, her eyes watering. "You meanie!"_

_Suddenly, the door slid open. The light from the outside hall streamed in, then every cadet except Catra looked up in juvenile terror as the light was blotted out by the imposing silhouette of Officer Grizzlor._

_“It’s past midnight!” snarled Grizzlor. “What in Hordak’s name are you -”_

_Before Grizzlor could begin scolding, the rat charged between his legs and out the open doorway, followed closely by Catra, then Adora, who gave the bewildered Horde officer a quick salute as she passed by._

_The red-lit Fright Zone corridor opened out ahead of them. Adora saw Catra scampering away, effortlessly outrunning her. Adora felt a sudden twinge of fear. Catra was hyperactive almost every hour of the day, but Adora saw she always got completely carried away when she was chasing something. It was only a matter of time before she hurt herself._

_Adora’s fears were confirmed as she saw the rat was disappearing into one of the holes where a tangle of pipes terminated at the end of the hall. Catra, drunk on her predatory magicat instinct, showed no signs of slowing down._

_Adora could see the disaster about to unfold. "_ _Look out!” she cried._

_It was too late. The rat disappeared into the wall, and Catra’s head made a loud ‘thunk’ as it struck one of the pipes at full speed. Catra fell to the ground with an undignified squeak and did not get up._

_By the time Adora caught up with Catra, she was a mess. Her freckled face was scrunched up and dribbling with angry, humiliated tears. Adora’s heart melted like butter at the sight of her kitten in distress. Grizzlor, stomping up behind them, was not so sympathetic._

_“You deserved that, you little brat!” snarled Grizzlor. He reached down with a beefy claw._ _"Get over here..."_

_Catra stopped crying in shock. Her ears flattened and her tail curled anxiously around one of her legs. She shrank back against the wall, staring up at Grizzlor with trembling eyes, and hissed as Grizzlor's hand landed heavily on her shoulders. The Horde officer lifted her up into the air as if she weighed nothing at all._

_"You not afraid of me?" said Grizzlor, and laughed as Catra hissed even louder._

_Adora watched Catra dangling six feet off the ground, writhing helplessly in Grizzlor's grip. She was trying so hard to look big and scary, but Adora looked past the mouthful of fangs and up into Catra's eyes. They were full of fear._

_"Well, how about we go see Weaver?" snarled Grizzlor. "You afraid of her?"_

_The effect on Catra was instantaneous. She stopped hissing and became deathly quiet. Adora's guilty conscience burned inside her. She'd been the one cheering Catra on when she was chasing the rat, but Catra was the one being punished. It wasn't fair. She had to do something. She cleared her throat just loud enough to get the officer's attention._

_Grizzlor turned his beady eyes down at Adora. “And what are you doing out here?”_

_“Sir! Seeking permission to escort Cadet Catra straight back to bed, sir!” chirped Adora._

_Even as he rolled his eyes, Grizzlor was visibly appeased by Adora’s show of obedience. "Fine,” he said, growling deeply. "Take her. Hate having to touch this little hairball anyway..."_

_He dropped Catra to the ground. She landed on her feet and instantly shrank against the wall again, trying to make herself as small as possible. As Grizzlor stomped by, Adora instinctively clicked her little heels together and gave an affirmative salute. Grizzlor’s lips curled back from his tusk-like fangs in an approving grin._

_“See, Catra?” he snarled, glaring at the young magicat sniffling on the floor. “That_ _is how a cadet should behave.”_

_Catra didn't respond. She was too busy hyperventilating in pain and shock to benefit from Adora’s example._

_“I’ll let this one slide,” continued Grizzlor. “But any more noise in the barracks and you're going in the cells. Now get your filthy hides to bed. Dismissed.”_

_Adora beamed. "Thank you, sir!"_

_Grizzlor pointed a sharp claw in her direction. "Don't push it."_

_Adora waited until Grizzlor’s hairy bulk had lumbered out of sight. When he did, Adora hurried to Catra’s side as fast as she could. Catra's face was dripping with hot tears and half-sniffled mucus. Her eyes were wide and unblinking. She didn't seem to be bleeding or injured, but the twin shocks of a metal pipe to the head and the threat of spending the night in Shadow Weaver's study had really messed her up._

_“Are you okay?” asked Adora, her brow furrowed with concern._

_Catra tried to speak, but her voice failed. Her eyes clenched shut and she started to cry again._

_“Oh, Catra,” said Adora. Her vision began to blur with tears of her own. “Please don’t cry, Catra…”_

_Adora's pleas did nothing. Catra continued to weep unabated. A deep and desperate urge to comfort rose up in Adora’s heart. She knew that if the older cadets heard, they'd bully Catra and call her a crybaby. Which she was, but the other cadets said it like it was Catra's fault she cried all the time. Adora knew more than anyone that wasn't true..._

_Slowly, Adora reached down and took one of Catra’s claws in her hand._

_Catra’s eyes flew open at the gentle skin-on-skin contact. “Adora?” she mumbled, holding her bunkmate in her sad, trembling gaze._

_“Show me where it hurts,” whispered Adora._

_Catra swallowed hard and gestured towards the crown of her head. Then Adora reached up on her tiptoes and, with as much gentleness as she could, planted a kiss on Catra’s forehead. The skin felt silky and warm against her lips. When she pulled back, Adora saw Catra gazing at her with speechless amazement._

_“Do you feel better now?” said Adora, uncertainly._

_Catra nodded very slowly. Adora tilted her head, unsure whether her comforting had been effective. She fell back on her child soldier training and did a quick assessment of body language. Catra's pupils were dilated, her ears had perked up, and her tail had relaxed and uncoiled from her leg. But she was still blushing so red that she almost glowed._

_"Are you sure?" asked Adora, perplexed._

_The little magicat nodded again, her powerful heterochromatic eyes still locked onto Adora._

_"Then why are you blushing?" asked Adora._

_“You kissed me,” whispered Catra. She was starting to purr._

_Adora's mind spun like an out-of-control wheel as she realized what she'd just done._ _She’d never kissed Catra before. Sure, there’d been lots of hugs, lots of playfighting, and she'd blown a raspberry on Catra’s tummy on more than one occasion (it was just too soft and fluffy to ignore) but this was their first kiss._

_“Yeah,” said Adora, slowly. “I just wanted to make you...feel better...”_

_"Why?" said Catra, she wiped her eyes on her sleeves and sniffled. "Grizzlor said I deserved to get hurt..."_

_"No," said Adora, without hesitating. Her voice was firm, almost angry. "No, you don't."_

_Silence hung in the air, yet oceans of unspoken feelings flowed between the two cadets._

_“I’m, uh, sorry you couldn’t catch that rat,” said Adora, hurriedly changing the subject. She swallowed awkwardly. “Were you hungry?”_

_Catra just hung her head, sniffling thickly as she tried to collect herself._

_"It'll be morning soon," continued Adora. "We can eat breakfast together." When Catra didn't respond, Adora squeezed her claw reassuringly, trying to coax her out of her shock._ _"They'll have the dark grey ration bars," she cooed. "Your faaavorite ~"_

_The tiniest giggle escaped Catra's mouth, and she purred louder. Pride swelled in Adora's chest. Nothing made her happier than seeing Catra's sadness disappear. It was more satisfying than all the ration bars in the Fright Zone put together._

_She turned around and prepared to lead Catra away, glad to know a warm bunk was waiting for them at the end of the hallway -_

\- but there was no hallway.

There were no doors, no lights, no pipes. There wasn’t even a floor.

The moment Adora turned around, she found herself standing on the edge of an abyss.

Adora took an involuntary step back, too frightened to breathe. It looked like the entire world had disappeared while her back was turned. Her mind reeled as her eyes tried and failed to take in the void stretching out in all directions.

Her legs shook and threatened to buckle, so Adora braced her hand against the wall. But the wall dissolved the moment she touched them. Uncomprehending horror writhed in Adora’s head as she watched what looked like solid steel disintegrate as if the entire Fright Zone was made out of dust. As it faded away it did not leave a hole. Just darkness. Solid darkness. A gateway to oblivion.

“Catra?” cried Adora, unable to tear her eyes away from the impossible sight. “W-What’s going on?”

There was no answer. Catra’s claw turned ice-cold in Adora’s hand. She'd stopped purring.

“Catra?” repeated Adora, so breathless with terror that she was almost whispering.

She looked over her shoulder and saw Catra had stopped.

No, not just stopped. Her entire body was still as a statue; she'd been completely frozen in time. Even the way the lights had shone off her tear-drenched face had been frozen too. But the shadows behind Catra. They were _moving._

Adora ripped her gaze from Catra's blank eyes and up at the entity taking form at the end of the hall. Adrenalin coursed through her body as she saw what should have been ethereal shadow tearing through the walls and ceiling as if they were made of paper. Adora didn't know what was happening or where she was or if any of this was even real. But the sight of a living shadow drew an instinctive reaction from her. She flung herself around Catra like a human shield.

“Stop!” she begged. “Please, ma’am, don’t hurt her!”

Instead of the expected admonishment from Shadow Weaver, the expected snap of 'out of my way, child', or 'don't interfere, child', there was cold unfathomable silence.

Adora forced herself to look up. The entire world had been dropped into some kind of eternal nighttime with not even a moon to light the way. Something was moving inside the darkness. Shapes like the legs of an enormous shadowy insect appeared. Then Adora realized they weren't legs at all. They were _fingers._ A gigantic hand was growing out of the hallway - or what little remained of the hallway - and it was coming right towards them.

"Ma'am, no!" cried Adora. "She's sorry! She won't do it again! _Please!_ "

Adora shut her eyes, bent double, and buried her face in Catra's icy chest, yielding to her desire to protect her kitten with every ounce of strength in her little body. The shadowy claw was right above them now and Adora braced for impact. But the hand passed straight _through_ her. The feeling was chilling, like being hit with a wave of cold invisible water.

Suddenly, Adora felt her arms being forced away from Catra's body. She kicked and fought against the dark hand, striking out with the punches and blows she'd learned in the battle sims. It had no effect. Every blow just swished harmlessly through the shadow, and it effortlessly ripped Catra out of Adora's grip.

“No!” cried Adora. She reached up in desperation as the hand lifted the paralyzed magicat into the air, like a schoolgirl trying to retrieve her doll from a bully. “ _Give her back! Give her back!”_

Her plea echoed uselessly into the void, and the hand began to retract into the shadows, dragging Catra with it.

The instant she touched the darkness, Catra began dissolving. It began with her tail and slowly worked its way up until Adora was left watching Catra's disembodied face float in the air until that too was taken from her. As Catra disappeared, the ceiling crumbled away in its entirety to reveal the unfathomable empty space above it, like a dollhouse having its roof ripped off.

The world was breaking apart, but Adora didn't even notice. The image of Catra vanishing into nothingness had annihilated everything in Adora's mind but the desire to cry out in sadness and pain. And that, for a moment, was all that Adora could do.

She cried. She cried so loud it felt like her vocal cords would burst.

She fell to her knees are clutched at her face, begging the darkness around her. "Give her _back_ give her _back_ give her _back_ -"

The world continued to crumble. The small holes in the walls and ceiling were running together into vast patches of emptiness. Adora was left kneeling on the small circle of Fright Zone that hadn't been erased by the dark, trembling, unable to understand, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but continue begging whatever force had her in its power, "Give her _back_ , give her _back_..."

Some of the darkness opened its eyes, and Adora stared up at two deathly white lights glaring down at her.

"Catra," The word left Adora's mouth as a hoarse, croaking whine. "You...took...Catra."

 ** _So you still remember her,_ **said a cold voice in Adora's head.

The voice shook Adora to her very bones. It was the voice of someone who had her completely under control and could snuff out her little life as easily as they might squish a cockroach. Then Adora felt a change in the air. The dark around her grew denser as if it were pulsing and breathing with unnatural life.

**_Then I will have to take more._ **

Adora glanced downwards and saw the hand climb back out of the darkness again. Then another hand. And another. A swarm of dark claws was laying siege to the tiny island of reality on which Adora knelt, tearing it to pieces, and scattering those pieces into the void. Adora was so scared she didn't even notice the floor begin to dissolve beneath her.

One of the hands loomed over Adora. It uncurled its talons to receive her body. Adora looked up at and imagined those claws turning her to dust like Catra. Her young soldierly instincts compelled her to strike back, but there was nothing in the battle sims or the Force Captain Primer that accounted for something like this. This wasn't war. This was a nightmare.

 _I'm dreaming,_ Adora told herself, _I'm dreaming. It can't hurt me, because I'm not here. I'm asleep in my bunk and nothing can hurt me. None of this is real. It's all in my mind._

 ** _Of course, it's all in your mind, child,_** said the voice again, almost pityingly.

Adora stared up at the eyes, her mouth open in shock. "H-How did you-"

**_Where do you think we are?_ **

Adora froze. She glanced down at herself, and instead of looking at the stubby legs of an eight-year-old, she saw the skinny, abused body of a teenage Horde cadet. She reached back and felt the back of her head, and when her hand returned it was covered in blood and wet hair.

Realization struck her like a blow to the stomach. She stared up at the cold white eyes again and tried to speak, but the hand snatched her up before she could take a single breath. The shadowy fingers curled around her body with unpleasant strength, and Adora felt the floor of the Fright Zone drop away from her. She was truly helpless now. The hand was carrying her away, just like Catra. Carrying her into the void.

"I don't understand," she cried, and the hand squeezed tighter, punishing her for speaking.

**_You do not have to understand. You have to forget._ **

Realization dawned on Adora. She'd relived the first kiss she'd ever shared with Catra. That kiss that planted the idea in Catra's head that she was worthy of something other than angry words and beatings, that set the trend for many kisses to follow.

"Why?" whispered Adora, her chest straining painfully against the dark hand's tightly clenched fingers. "It's just a memory. It doesn't hurt anyone! Why should I have to forget it?"

 ** _Forget what, child?_** The voice was almost mocking her.

"When I first kissed..." Adora paused, almost choking on her own words.

Her brain recoiled with a strange, sinking sensation like she'd reached the top of a flight of stairs sooner than she'd expected and ended up slamming her boot down on a nonexistent step. In the mere seconds that she'd been distracted, something had gone missing in her head.

"No," gasped Adora. Her eyes widened as she beheld the gaping, freshly-cut hole in her memory. She wanted to throw up. "No, no, no...

Then some kind of laughter echoed from the surrounding darkness. It was monstrous at first, like a dozen voices laughing at once, then it finally settled down into a low, elegant chuckle echoing from an unseen mouth.

Adora's mind reeled. If her arms weren't pinned to her sides by a giant spectral hand, she would have beaten her fists against her head in agonized confusion. _Who was that girl? The one with the glowing eyes and the wild, fluffy mane? The girl with the snarky voice and the cute freckled nose and the cute scratchy laugh that melted her heart every time she heard it? Kat? Kitra? Catrarus?_

**_Don't fight it, child. Let the ritual work its magic. Let the memories pour out of you._ **

"What did you do to me?" cried Adora, squirming fruitlessly against the tightly-clenched hand.

**_Something I should have done a long time ago._ **

All Adora could do was whisper, "Why?"

 ** _Because you are unwell, Adora,_** growled the voice, stern and cold as steel. **_I've always had my suspicions, but the second you refused to discipline that animal as I commanded, I knew you were too far gone. So you are going to be wiped clean of the stain of...her._** The voice grew brighter, almost mocking. ** _First I cleanse your body, then I cleanse your brain. Poetic, is it not?_**

Adora's breath began to quicken. Her heart was beating so hard it felt like her ribs would shatter. The void surrounded her on all sides. There was nothing there. No moon. No clouds. It was the darkness on the borders of death itself.

And something inside her was stirring. Inside the deepest part of her mind, above the deafening silence, Adora heard a sword unsheathing...

"I can't even remember her name..." she whispered.

 ** _Soon you won't even remember her_** ** _face,_** the voice began. This time it was slow, mournful, and yet darkly triumphant. ** _Then will forget having ever forgotten to begin with. And once you've forgotten that..._** The voice dropped low again. It whispered directly into Adora's ears, making her shiver all over. **_...there will be nothing to stop you._**

Adora blinked at her shadowy captor. She wasn't just afraid. She was losing her mind and had reached depths of fear she could never have imagined before she was thrown into this waking nightmare.

**_You could be the finest Force Captain the world has ever seen. Strong. Obedient. Unyielding. Isn't that what you've always wanted?_ **

Shame gouged at Adora's brain like a red-hot knife. "Not like this..." she gasped.

**_I'm afraid this is the only way, child._ **

"I'll be a Force Captain," said Adora, her voice quavering. She gave a deranged smile as she tried to mollify the shadowy abomination. "I'll do whatever you want! I'll never complain or talk back or refuse you again. You can take me away from my squad. But please, just...just...give me _something_ to remember her."

**_Remember who?_ **

As she wracked her brain for an answer, Adora gritted her teeth and clenched her eyes shut.

 _Come on,_ she shouted at herself. _She slept with you since you were a baby. She's the first thing you see when you wake up. She's the girl you fought side-by-side with for over ten years._

_The girl who you dragged back from the edge of suicide when she was thirteen._

_The girl who endured six days of punishment but gave up the moment she saw you in pain._

_The girl you love more than she loves herself._

_Remember her name. If you do anything in your life, Adora, you will remember that girl's name!_

After a few moments writhing with confusion in the grip of the dark hand, Adora glanced sideways to the spectral lights, and they were reflected in her own glistening tear-filled eyes.

"I don't know," she whispered.

Adora started to cry again. She clenched her jaw as tears dribbled off her cheeks and into the empty void. The darkness around her seemed to tense and draw closer, like a grotesque maternal creature drawn to the cries of its young.

**_Oh, Adora..._ **

A shadowy tendril extended from the darkness and slithered to where Adora's head poked out of the tightly-clenched claw. When it neared Adora's face, the tip of the blossomed into the shape of a slender woman's hand. Adora winced as the hand wiped away her tears and caressed her cheek. Even now, in the depths of despair, Adora found herself comforted by the soft touch.

 ** _Cadets don't cry, Adora,_** crooned the voice. **_Not till the battle is won._**

"The...battle..." whispered Adora, with what little breath remained in her lungs.

 ** _There, there. It will be over soon._** **_And once it is, I have a surprise in store for you..._**

Adora felt the claw lifting her upright, bringing her closer to the vast white eyes that hung like giant torches in the void above her. There was the suggestion of a face looming out of the darkness. It looked down at Adora and smiled with an open wound of scar tissue and exposed teeth that might once, in some forgotten time, have been a mouth.

**_A nice, fresh ration bar. Won't that be wonderful?_ **

And just like that, the little thread by which Adora's sanity had been hanging for the last week of starvation finally snapped.

The next few instants were lost to Adora. All she knew was that she'd stopped crying, an act that owed nothing to strength but the fact that she all of her tears had been flash-boiled away in an instant, leaving only the searing, white-hot core of her anger behind.

Her mind was a reactor going into a catastrophic meltdown. The anger was glowing so violently hot that all her mental restraints and defenses were liquefying and Adora could feel a part of herself that she'd kept suppressed her entire life break free of its bonds and soar to freedom. It traveled down her neck, exploded in her empty stomach, and spread its warm, blazing fire to all four of her limbs until every inch of her body was tingling with light. It seemed to fizz and crackle inside of her, like lightning. Like a million stun-rods sparking into life at the same time.

"I don't want a ration bar," said Adora. She was starting to glow all over. "I want Catra."

The darkness descended again and, to its horror, met resistance.

Beams of pure light shone through the gaps in the shadow's fingers. They clenched themselves tighter around Adora's body, trying to snuff out the brightness, but the light clung to Adora, hugging her like armor, and suddenly the light wasn't just shining.

It was _burning._

The umbral claw holding Adora like helpless prey suddenly gave way to a shaft of furious, rainbow-edged light. Adora felt the void itself recoil, as if terrified, while something vast and terrible growled in rage. Then suddenly the light disappeared, and Adora disappeared along with it.

For a few moments, the only thing Adora could hear was her own shallow breath and quickening heartbeat. She was helpless to do anything but fall. As she tumbled over and over, she could see the golden light suffusing her body, leaving little traces that switched from red, then yellow, then blue, then an entire rainbow as she plunged down, into the unknown.

As Adora fell, she clung to her memory of her kitten's name, as if her life depended on it.

_Catra._

_Catra._

_Catra..._


	19. The Ritual (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content Warning: implied / actual physical abuse, psychological abuse, bullying, gaslighting, blood]
> 
> I'll let this chapter speak for itself. Be warned, it is a _long_ ride.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v8V55Od764w

_“Catra!”_

_“Catra!”_

_“Catra!” screamed Octavia. “Are you listening to me?”_

_“Yes, officer!” replied Catra, staring dead ahead._

_“Do you get off on making my life miserable?”_

_“No, officer!”_

_“Then what in Hordak’s name were you thinking? You’re a cadet, not a crazy animal-”_

_Adora tried to ignore Catra’s scolding, which had been going on for some time. She was too busy dabbing the blood away from Lonnie’s split lip with a wet cloth. As she worked, she paused, startled for a moment with thoughts of darkness and light and something about a 'ritual'. Then a flood of contemporary memories poured in and extinguished her confusion._

_She was...fourteen. She was sat with a bunch of other cadets on the back of a flatbed skiff. One of the larger ones used for troop transport. Today it was being used to haul a couple of squads to and from live-fire training exercises._ _There’d been an incident. There'd been a dispute during training. Things were said that couldn’t be unsaid. Punches were thrown that couldn’t be unpunched. And she, as the golden cadet, was trying to fix everything as usual._

_Cadets dressed in full riot gear were slumped side-by-side on the benches lining the back of the skiff. Everyone was worn-out and avoiding eye-contact while trying to ignore Octavia’s increasingly loud outburst._

_“The second we get back, you’ve going to Weaver’s with a list of your infractions,” hissed Octavia. “Now are you going to behave during the journey home, you hairball?”_

_“Yes, officer,” said Catra._

_“Smartest fucking thing you’ve said all day,” growled Octavia. She stomped to the pilot’s compartment and slammed the door shut so hard the whole skiff rocked to one side._

_“Please hold still,” demanded Adora, as she dragged the sterile cloth over Lonnie's cut. She felt the back of the skiff shudder as the anti-gravity engines roared into life, and soon they were speeding over the flattened wastelands bordering the Fright Zone._

_"I can't hold still with you poking my face," snapped Lonnie._

_"I'd poke you less if you just held still, Lonnie," Adora snapped back._

_Lonnie's nostrils flared with sudden anger. "Hey, you wouldn't have to do this if your bunkmate wasn't a complete psycho."_

_"Enough, Lonnie," muttered Adora, trying to hide her own anger. "Captain Octavia said we should let it go, so let it go."_

_"Easy for you to say," muttered Lonnie. "Catra didn't jab a stun rod in_ your _mouth."_

_"She said she was sorry!" protested Adora. "And she didn't turn it on," she added, self-conscious of the fact that her kitten could be surprisingly brutal._

_"Whatever," scoffed Lonnie. She pouted as the cloth erased a fresh trickle of blood from her chin and gazed restlessly around the skiff until suddenly something caught her eye. She nudged Adora and pointed behind her._

_Adora looked over and saw Catra glaring achingly at her from the other end of the skiff. The moment their eyes met, Catra averted her gaze. Adora realized she must have been watching her clean Lonnie’s wounds for some time. Catra's visible discomfort drew an angry look from Lonnie._

_"What're you looking at, pussy?" snarled Lonnie._

_Catra hissed. Her lambent eyes glowered at Lonnie, then flicked down to Adora, who was still diligently tending to her squad-mate's wounds. Lonnie noticed the split-second of longing that colored Catra's glowing eyes._

_"Aw, look," crooned Lonnie, putting on a deliberately sickly-sweet tone. “Catra’s jealous!”_

_“No, I’m not!” growled Catra. But she wasn’t convincing anyone. She could hide her feelings but not her blushing cheeks._

_Lonnie's smile widened into a malicious grin. She saw the opportunity to mess with Catra and wasted no time in seizing it. She folded her arms around Adora’s neck and writhed in mock ecstasy._

_“Oh, Adora," she cooed. "Be gentle with me~”_

_There was a ripple of laughter. The cadets who'd been keeping their heads down were now gawking at Lonnie and Adora like the sadistic idiots they'd been raised to be. Today's training had been hard and boring, so the chance to see some good bullying had them excited._

_Adora gave a pained 'knock it off' grin, and tried to unfold Lonnie's arms from around her neck. She looked over her shoulder and saw some of the larger cadets giving Catra some too-hard nudges, trying to get a reaction out of her. Adora saw Catra's ears were flattened and her tail was flicking. The girl was reaching her boiling point. Someone was about to lose an eye._

_“Come on, litterbox,” said one cadet. “You gonna take that from her?”_

_“Yeah!” said another. “Take her eye out!”_

_Catra didn’t respond. Adora's heart bled for her kitten. This was a real nightmare for her. At least in the Fright Zone, Catra could escape from her bullies in the vents. But there was nowhere to run on a skiff. Nothing to do but sit there and take it._

_"Stop," growled Adora, fixing Lonnie with the most forbidding glare she could muster._

_"Don't be shy, Adora," said Lonnie. She held two gloved hands on either side of her head in imitation of Catra's ears. “Just pretend I'm your favorite pussy!"_

_The instant the laughter started again. Catra was on her feet and striding across the back to the skiff, bristling with rage. Lonnie pushed Adora aside and stood up to greet her feline challenger. Catra shoved her in the chest._

_"Hey!" Lonnie almost lost balance and fell out of the skiff. "Quit it, pussy!" she yelled, shoving Catra back._

_"Stop calling me that!" hissed Catra, swiping at Lonnie._

_"I'll call you whatever I want!" she yelled and reciprocated with a haymaker that Catra blocked._

_“Stop it!” demanded Adora, positioning herself between the two combatants. "Somebody's gonna get hurt!"_

_Catra looked at Adora's steely blue eyes and seemed to relent. Adora knew that Catra was internally weighing up her anger against her better judgment, and for a moment it looked like the latter was going to win. Then Lonnie stuck out her tongue, and the scales in Catra's head slammed down in favor of anger._

_Catra pounced._

_The sudden movement took Adora by surprise. It always amazed her how much force Catra's legs could pack into a single leap. She probably would have knocked Lonnie out cold if Lonnie hadn't ducked. So instead of colliding with her prey, Catra sailed clean over Lonnie's head and fell flailing out the back of the skiff, hitting the ground, rolling, then disappearing in a cloud of dust._

_All of the cadets roared with laughter except Lonnie and Adora._

_"Shit," breathed Lonnie, her smile vanishing in an instant._

_Adora was already stumbling over to Octavia. "Stop the skiff!" she cried, hammering the door to the driver's cab. "Cadet overboard! Stop the skiff! Stop!"_

_Octavia shot her a glance with her one good eye, then looked back at the road. "Fuck no," she snarled._

_"Please!" Adora begged, her voice breaking with fear. “I have a squad-mate who could be injured!”_

_“And I got a schedule to keep!” Octavia yelled. “I'm not breaking it for anyone, least of all that little shit! Now take a seat, cadet!"_

_Adora couldn't believe what she was hearing. "But-"_

_Octavia's eye flashed with the promise of punishment. "Take a seat!" she roared._

_Adora’s eyes stabbed at Octavia with cold fury. "Yes, captain," she said, quietly. She walked away but didn't return to her seat. She grabbed a canteen of water in each hand and perched on the edge of the hovercraft. The ground blurred past. She looked back and caught Lonnie's eyes, which briefly widened with comprehension._

_Lonnie cried, "Adora, don't-" but it was too_ _late. Adora threw herself off the side of the speeding skiff and disappeared._

_She tucked and rolled into the dirt, trying to land with as minimal damage as possible just like she'd been taught in the battle sim. The sunbaked dirt of the Fright Zone badlands did not make for a soft landing._

_When the world finally stopped spinning, Adora pushed herself up from the dusty ground. She saw the skiff zooming off into the distance, waves of polluted debris spiraling in its wake. The sound of its humming anti-gravity engine grew softer and softer until it was drowned out by the howling desert wind._

_Adora sighed. She could just barely see the Fright Zone in the distance. It was a thin line of lights on the horizon separating the red desert from the purple sky. She realized it was going to take them hours to walk back without a skiff._

_She tucked a flyaway tress of blonde hair behind her ear. Her ponytail must have come undone during the landing. Once she found her feet, Adora turned around and saw a small road of disturbed dust. Catra was lying at the end of it, curled up tight inside herself._

_Adora jogged over to Catra's side. "Get up, Catra," she said, sternly._

_Catra remained huddled. Her tail flicked from side to side, sweeping up little plumes of dust._

_"Get up," Adora, repeated. "I know you're not hurt. I've seen you go through way worse, you're fine." She nudged Catra again. "What were you thinking?" she added, feeling a jolt of frustration clouding her sympathy towards her kitten. "Starting a fight on the back of a skiff? As if we aren't in enough trouble already?"_

_Catra's ears flattened tighter against her head._

_"Look Catra, it's a long walk back to the Fright Zone," muttered Adora. "And it's gonna be even longer if you don't work with me." Adora's eyes narrowed as she delivered the only sanction she thought could work against Catra. "And if you don't get up, I'm not giving you ear scratchies tonight."_

_Still no response. Adora sighed deeply as she sat down at Catra's side and laid a gentle hand on Catra's back. The magicat's fur bristled, then calmed down and accepted the kind touch._

_For a few moments, Adora was happy to sit quietly. She had spent so much time in the depths of the Fright Zone that she forgot how calming the outside world could be. The battle sims tried to emulate the wild open spaces of Etheria, but they couldn't compare to the real thing. She couldn't wait to conquer places like this._

_She looked down at Catra, who was still refusing to budge._

_“I don't get it," said Adora, softly. She started stroking Catra's back. "Everyone's gone, Catra. You don’t have to act mean anymore, it’s just me. What are you scared of?”_

_Suddenly, Catra uncoiled and her tearful, dust-smeared face was inches from Adora's. "I am not scared!" she hissed._

_Anyone else would have flinched, but not Adora. Her face remained blank and unimpressed as she watched Catra rise to her feet and storm away, growling and kicking offending rocks into the distance._

_"They're the ones who should be scared!" Catra ranted on, kicking up dust, oozing wounded pride from every pore. "Lonnie and Octavia and all those fucking jerks! I could slit their throats if I wanted to! Then we'll see who's the fucking pussy!"_

_Adora covered her eyes with her hands and moaned in frustration. "Catra, please..."_

_"And you!" roared Catra, pivoting around and stabbing her finger at Adora. "You sat there, and fucking fooled around with her, while she made fun of me!"_

_Adora's stared at Catra in disbelief, a blush settling on her cheeks. "Okay, first of all," she began, raising a hand. "We weren't fooling around. I was giving her first aid. She's our squad-mate, and she was injured, Catra! Lonnie would do the same for us."_

_Catra scoffed. "No, she fucking wouldn't-"_

_"Second of all," Adora continued, loudly cutting Catra off. "I was trying to get Lonnie to give you a break. I thought if I talked to her, I could help you."_

_"Why?" snarled Catra._

_Adora's face twitched involuntarily. "What do you mean, ‘why’?”_

_“Nobody ever asks you to help them! It’s always your idea! Even when you don’t get anything but pain out of it, you still help me. Why do you do this to yourself, Adora?”_

_“Because I care about you,” said Adora, flatly._

_"Well, I didn't ask you to care!" cried Catra, her eyes wide._ _"I didn't ask you to follow me! I didn't ask you to defend me from Lonnie, and I didn't ask you to bail out of a moving skiff!"_

_"But you fell out-"_

_"On accident!" interrupted Catra. "But you did it on purpose! Do you think that makes you some kind of hero? Because it doesn't, Adora! It just makes you even stupider than me!"_

_It was a while before Adora spoke again. “A Force Captain should be ready to sacrifice-”_

_“Oh, fuck you, Adora!” Catra snarled venomously._

_Adora sat silently on the harsh red ground. She opened her mouth to respond, but her lip threatened to start trembling, and she stopped._

_"If you just minded your own fucking business, you'd be home by now," continued Catra, glowering. "Instead, you're stuck here, and you're gonna miss evening roll call, and Weaver's gonna flip out, and now I’m gonna get-”_

_As words failed her, Catra smacked her forehead and cried in exasperation. "Why couldn't you just leave me alone?"_

_Catra's harsh words seemed to travel for miles through the empty wasteland. Adora slowly rose to her feet, rejection twisting in the pit of her stomach. She was going to cry. There was no doubt about it._

_"You want me to leave you alone?" said Adora, fighting hard to keep her voice steady. Her throat burned with the urge to sob._

_"Yes," said Catra. She looked down at her boots. Adora could sense the raging fire in Catra's mind was already cooling off, but she didn't take a single step backward._

_"Okay then," said Adora, quietly. She held out one of the canteens towards Catra. "There's enough water in this thing to get you back safely. I'm going on ahead. If I see a patrol, I'll tell them to come back for you, and..." She swallowed. "..._ _I'm sorry."_

_The instant Catra took the water bottle, Adora turned around and left._

_She didn't look back._

_She just kept moving towards the distant lights of the Fright Zone, which flickered like spirits in the wide-open sky. Adora’s entire mind was focused on putting one foot in front of the other. She counted to exactly five hundred steps before crying. Her shoulders began to tremble, and small teardrops washed the dust off her cheeks before she finally dropped her facade and let loose the wracking sobs she'd been holding back._

_Suddenly, Adora heard rapid footsteps closing in behind her, then she felt arms enfolding her and a warm, purring weight pressing against her body._

_"No," gasped Catra. "No, no, no, I didn't mean it..."_

_Adora stood in the middle of the wasteland, staring at nothing, letting herself be hugged. Her chest ached with emotion as she felt Catra embrace her tightly._

_"I'm sorry," Catra buried her face in Adora's shoulder. "I'm so sorry..."_

_"It's okay," mumbled Adora. She sniffled. "It's just a little dust in my eyes. It's okay."_

_"No, it's not!" cried Catra, hugging her tighter. Her voice was full of regret, and she seemed on the verge of tears herself when she wailed, "I made you cry!" Catra took a deep, shuddering breath before she had the strength to talk again. "I’m a monster…”_

_The two cadets slowly fell to their knees and sat in a little dusty pile of tears. The pain and sadness escaped Adora's body in a long sigh._

_“You’re not a monster,” said Adora, gently. "You're just a scared little kitty."_

_"I know," said Catra, sniffling miserably._

_"But you're_ my _scared little kitty," cooed Adora._

_Catra nuzzled into Adora's chest. "I know," she purred._

_They knew there was no way they could make it back before night-time, so they both watched the final moments of the moonset together. Adora looked down longingly at the scared little kitty clutching her chest, then looked up and squinted at the tiny slice of purple-red moonlight getting smaller and smaller until it was swallowed by the horizon -_

\- and the shadows fell.

There was no transition. In an instant, Adora’s memory lay in darkness all around her. The wide vista of the Fright Zone badlands was wiped out of existence from horizon to horizon. The two cadets were left drifting on a tiny island of reality in a vast ink-black ocean of oblivion.

They were not alone. Something huge – taller than any tower in the Fright Zone – was gazing down on them. It was hidden in the dark but as Adora dared to look up, there was a suggestion of a woman’s body, built from an impossible amalgam of flesh and shadow, looming over her.

Adora could feel the command to **_forget_** hit her like an oppressive dark wave, trying to force her into the dust, but she held her ground. The light still burned within her, protecting her. She didn’t know what the light was or where it had come from, but right now it was the only thing keeping her mind from the shadow’s grasp.

If she’d been able to tear her eyes away from Catra, Adora would have seen the little globe of light she’d made was now nestled in the palm of the shadow’s hand. Her last remaining fragment of freedom and memory was trapped in a cage of curling black talons tensed against the invisible borders of the memory, yearning to capture the cadet inside as they had before. But they could do little more than scrape against the walls. The light kept them at bay. For now.

As the darkness continued to besiege the memory from all sides, Adora focused all of her attention on Catra, who stayed warm and purring into her chest. She’d fallen asleep. Her thin, furry chest gently rose and fell.

"I remember this day,” Adora told Catra, stroking her ears.

The shadows pressed down on her again, harder this time, but Adora kept the little circle of memory alive. The light did not protect her entirely, but it gave her an opportunity to think, to create some small part of her mind that the shadow couldn’t take away.

“We walked back together. You didn't let go of my hand the whole time." She cradled Catra's head. "We got picked up by the night patrol, and they thought we were deserting." Adora laughed desperately. "They wanted to send us to Beast Island. When Shadow Weaver saw, she was totally furious. She was so angry at them she forgot all about punishing you…"

Behind Adora, something was tapping against the protective circle of light. Adora forced herself to ignore it and devote all of her attention to the memory of Catra that glowed and purred in her arms.

Adora giggled again. She felt strangely calm and wondered for a moment if she'd genuinely gone insane. She knew it happened to Horde soldiers sometimes when the war got too much for them. The mortal mind could only absorb so much horror before it fell apart at the seams.

"You know what's funny?” she whispered. “I ended up giving you ear scratchies that night. Even though I said I wouldn't. And Lonnie didn't apologize, but she never called you pussy again. Which must have meant she was sorry. Even if she never admitted it..."

A sort of drunken pleasure warmed Adora's heart as she reminisced about the time in her life when all she had to worry about were meaningless feuds between bickering squad-mates. But just thinking about her squadron made Adora feel sick. She had a brief image of Lonnie choking as her throat closed up with binding-magic, while Rogelio and Kyle lay in the infirmary with needles in their veins.

The pangs of sadness that accompanied these images were sharp, but they gave Adora focus. They reminded her of the world that existed before she'd been swallowed up by this living nightmare.

“I’ll save all of you,” she murmured, stroking the fuzzy memory of Catra’s ears. “I promise.”

Suddenly, Adora felt the darkness retreat. There was almost instant relief, just short of genuine pleasure, as the crushing pressure of shadow magic disappeared. But it felt ominous. Like the calm before the storm. Then Adora shivered as a voice whispered straight into her head.

 _“Adora._ ”

Adora didn’t move. She could feel the spectral eyes burning into the back of her skull again, trying to seek out a weakness, trying to worm their way inside. 

_“Look at me.”_

After a few moments, Adora risked looking up. The darkness was gone, and there was now…the sky. A brilliant sky with rolling clouds. The kind of sky which knew no dust storms or smog or chemical fumes. The kind of sky Fright Zone kids rarely got to see outside of battlesims. Adora stared into it, hypnotized.

Then the voice spoke again. Cold and cutting words echoed right into Adora’s psyche.

 _“My child,”_ said Shadow Weaver. _“This has got to stop.”_

Adora made a point of not turning around as she gave her reply. “It _is_ going to stop,” she growled. “You’re going to leave my mind.”

_“I’m not going anywhere, Adora.”_

“I wasn't asking, Shadow Weaver,” said Adora, drawing Catra closer.

_"That's ma'am, to you, cad-"_

"No," interrupted Adora. "Not anymore. I'm not your cadet, and you're not my teacher. Now leave, or I'll make you leave.”

 _“Make me leave?”_ inquired Shadow Weaver, a hint of amusement in her voice. _"How?"_

Adora stared down at herself. She was no longer wearing her Fright Zone riot gear. She was somehow clothed in the light as if it were a second skin. For a moment she considered launching herself at Shadow Weaver, but immediately thought against it. Adora didn't understand anything that had just transpired in the last hour of her life. All she knew was that she was safe in the light. But for how long?

_“You are frightened, child. How will you make me leave when you won't even look at me?”_

The glowing memory of Catra shifted in Adora's arms, at peace despite the apocalyptic landscape around her. Adora felt a lump rise in her throat. She was scared. She'd been given a fighting chance against Shadow Weaver, but she didn't even know what to do with it.

And to make things worse, Shadow Weaver’s voice was hypnotic. It no longer sounded like every syllable was a death threat. It was softer. Almost kinder. Adora refused to let herself relax. She could almost feel the shadow trying to sneak hooks of doubt through the wall of silence she’d build up around herself, trying to reel her back…

 _“Adora, you do not understand,”_ said Shadow Weaver. _“I no longer wish to erase your memories.”_

The sorceress’s verbal hooks clattered off Adora’s wall of silence.

_"There are things we must discuss, child. This light, this shield you've created - this changes everything."_

The hooks flew out and failed to catch.

_“Adora. I understand your fear, I really do, but you've redeemed yourself. There's no need for any more conflict between us."_

The hooks missed again. Adora remained distant.

_"Please, child, I’ve been…wounded....”_

The hooks caught. Adora let herself be reeled. Then, slowly, and paralyzed by the fear that simply looking at Shadow Weaver at this stage would mean instant death, Adora looked up.

Shadow Weaver was there, floating balefully outside the invisible walls of the memory like some kind of ghost. An unseen wind was flapping her vermillion robes so that they streamed out like ribbons against the bright blue sky.

She was hunched over and clutching one of her arms. The robes around it were burned and torn. When Adora's eyes slid down to Shadow Weaver's hand, she saw it was missing fingers. Whatever light had poured out from Adora’s body in that moment of absolute despair, it had been strong enough to cut through Shadow Weaver like a red-hot sword.

Adora’s blood froze. She didn’t know things in this strange mindscape translated into the real world, but the realization stung all the same. She’d just fought her teacher. She’d _wounded_ her. Not even Catra had ever done anything so disobedient.

For a brief moment, Adora’s mind was torn in two as her boiling anger towards Shadow Weaver clashed with over a decade of mental conditioning and obedience. 

“I’m sorry,” said Adora, her voice shaking. Her fingers gently caressed the back of Catra’s head, desperate for comfort. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but you wouldn’t stop.” Sudden anger clenched Adora’s teeth, and she hissed, “Why didn’t you stop?”

_“You have nothing to apologize for, child.”_

Adora ceased stroking the dream-Catra’s ears out of surprise. “You're not angry?” she whispered.

 _“How can I be angry?"_ Shadow Weaver's spectral eyes softened. _"You've passed the test, Adora."_

Confused shivers ran down Adora’s now-glowing back. She hugged the ethereal memory of Catra closer, every fiber of her body aching for the comfort and warmth of the real thing.

“Test?” said Adora, in a distant voice. "I don't understand..."

 _“You just broke one of my spells_ ,” spoke Shadow Weaver, in an ominous tone which suggested this was both an unforgivable crime and a glorious achievement. _“The finest sorcerers in Mystacor couldn’t have done that, but you did.”_

Adora faltered. She’d been preparing herself to fight for her life against Shadow Weaver, and now they were talking as if the previous nightmare had never occurred. Adora felt in the pit of her stomach that this was a trick, or that the sorceress was just trying to probe her memories in some unknowable way, but she had questions she knew only Shadow Weaver could answer.

"What did I do?" whispered Adora.

A small nod was Shadow Weaver's only response. She slowly raised her wounded arm and let the robes come undone around it. Adora reeled at the sight of the rainbow-edged burns clinging to the pale green flesh.

 _“I am not sure,"_ said Shadow Weaver, with a hint of dark pride. _"But whatever power you used, Adora, it came to you as naturally as breathing.”_

Suddenly, Shadow Weaver tapped a tendril against the invisible wall. It rippled, like liquid glass. Adora jumped and instinctively drew the memory of Catra closer to her chest.

 _“Even now, you’re still managing to hold me back.”_ A smile danced across the scarred face behind Shadow Weaver’s mask. _“And all it took was a little stress and starvation. Imagine what you'd be capable of if you used it consciously! Hordak himself would kneel before you."_

"What?" whimpered Adora, her voice catching in her throat.

 _"This has all been a test, my child, and you've passed with some considerable merit. Do you think I'd starve you for a whole week, and jeopardize your development, just to teach that filthy animal a lesson?"_ Shadow Weaver loomed closer, bracing a hand against the walls of the memory. _"No, Adora, it was all for you."_

Adora found herself rocking back and forth, clutching her precious memories of Catra to her body like a security blanket.

_"I always knew you were special, Adora. From the moment the officers laid you in my arms, I saw sensed a great warrior, hiding inside you. All I had to do was force them out into the open. And to do that, I had to hurt you. Did I not say I had to hurt you, Adora?"_

"So, that's it?" said Adora. "Everything from Catra's punishment, and this ritual, was it all just...strength training?"

 _"Strength is just a word, Adora,"_ replied Shadow Weaver. _"Any brainless minion can be strong, but the power you yield may be without match in our universe. Forget Force Captainship. You could rule the Horde, Adora. Take Etheria into a golden age."_ Shadow Weaver tapped the shield of light again with a shadow-edged nail. _"And I could show you how..."  
_

The light swelled, and Shadow Weaver was forced back as if shoved by an invisible wind.

"No," gasped Adora, her eyes narrowing with rage. "You're a monster."

 _"I'm a teacher,"_ corrected Shadow Weaver, straightening her robes. _"And you are the finest student a teacher could ask for."_

“Stop,” said Adora, closing her eyes. “Please stop.”

 _“Why?”_ Shadow Weaver’s ethereal masked head tilted with predator-like interest. _“Can a teacher not be proud of her golden cadet?”_

The phrase made Adora's eyes clench shut tighter. "Shadow Weaver, I don't want to be your cadet anymore," she mumbled. "I _never_ should have been your cadet."

Shadow Weaver glared accusingly. _"Child, you have always told me you wanted to be stronger..."_

"I know I did," said Adora, shame quavering her voice. "I thought that's what I wanted. But now I don't know anything anymore. I'm broken."

 _"But you have power,"_ said Shadow Weaver, in a tone which implied that nobody could truly be broken if they had power.

"If this is power, then I _hate_ it," snarled Adora. "Everyone who ever cared about me is either _dead_ or _dying,_ and it's all my fault..."

 _"That's not true,"_ said Shadow Weaver. _"I still care for you, Adora."_

The light welled up around Adora again, reflecting her subconscious fury. "Liar," she hissed.

There was a short silence before Shadow Weaver whispered, _“I admit I have told you many lies, Adora. But caring about you is not one of them."_

“You tried to destroy everything I was!” Adora suddenly cried, surprised she’d lasted so long without shouting. “And you tried to make my friends torture each other, just for some stupid...test!” Adora took a deep breath. “That is _not_ what people who care for each other do!”

 _“Is that so?”_ The voice dropped into a low, serious tone. _“And how would you know, Adora? When I found you, you were one orphan among thousands. Nobody in the whole of Etheria cared whether you lived or died. But I cared, Adora. I chose to be a part of your life. Is there anyone in the Fright Zone who has cared for you as I have?”_

Adora swallowed hard. “My squadron,” she replied, in a small voice.

Silence hung between student and teacher. Between light and dark. Adora sat for a while, caressing Catra’s hair as she gathered enough courage to speak again.

"I know what love is," said Adora, setting her jaw, determined not to cry again. "It's not in the Force Captain Primer, but I figured it out." Her eyes dropped to the memory of Catra, still asleep in her lap. “It’s not easy, trying to win a war and care for each other at the same time. But, me and Catra...Rogelio...Kyle...Lonnie...we found ways to make everything...hurt less...”

Adora's effort not to cry died a premature death. Harsh, choking sobs took away her voice. In her lap, the memory of Catra purred and glowed, suffusing Adora in light. Shadow Weaver regarded them coldly.

 _“But did Catra show you how to read?”_ said Shadow Weaver, in a slow voice. _“Did Lonnie spend night after night studying with you?"_

Adora wiped her eyes and was ashamed to find herself without an answer.

 _"Of course not, child. They merely followed orders."_ Shadow Weaver gave a deep sigh. _"Are you really so naive, Adora, that you believe any of those brats would have been a part of your life if I hadn't forced you into their squadron?"_

"Then why did you do it!?" snarled Adora, turning passionately upon the sorceress again. "Why couldn't you have kept me to yourself? Why did you let me love people just so you can tear them apart in front of me?"

 _"You answered your own question, child,"_ said Shadow Weaver, staying infuriatingly calm in the face of Adora's anguish. _"A Force Captain should be ready to sacrifice, Adora,"_

The light stirred in Adora again. Like fire. Like living moonlight. "Themselves," she snarled. "Not others."

_"Sometimes victory requires us to sacrifice both, Adora. You think I haven't sacrificed myself?"_

Shadow Weaver reached up and solemnly pulled her mask off.

_"Look at me, child. I sacrificed **everything**."_

Adora forced herself not to react. To her surprise, enduring the sight of Shadow Weaver's face was almost easy. Maybe it was because she'd seen it before, with Catra, on that fateful day when they were six years old. Or maybe it was because Shadow Weaver's broken mouth and shadow-stained eyes were somehow the least scary thing she'd seen since being plunged into a lucid nightmare.

Somehow, in the light, Shadow Weaver's face wasn't terrifying. It was almost sad.

 _"I became a monster so you could be a hero, Adora,"_ said Shadow Weaver. _"I sacrificed my soul for you. And yet you say I don't care..."_

Adora growled, “I didn’t ask you to sacrifice anything,” then suddenly clasped a hand around her mouth. She looked down at the memory of Catra, still dusty from that half-remembered midnight walk along the Fright Zone badlands, and for a soul-chilling moment, Adora wondered whether she and Shadow Weaver were more alike than she realized.

Shadow Weaver tutted disapprovingly. _"What am I going to do with you?"_ she said, in a voice that was almost warm.

"Leave me alone," growled Adora. "I'm going to stay here. Forever."

 _"Don't be stupid,"_ Shadow Weaver replied, her voice turning to ice in an instant. _"This is a critical moment in your life, Adora. You need me to guide you more than ever."_

"Guide me?" scoffed Adora, bitterly. "You mean, you're going to hurt me again? Torture me with another stupid test?"

_"No, Adora. The pain has served its purpose. I swear I will never hurt you again if you help me-"_

"Why? Why should I _ever_ help you?"

_"Because I'm not the only one you'd be helping, Adora. We can take this light and use it to make a new Horde. A better Horde. Safe for all the Catras and Lonnies of the world. Is that not what you want, Adora? For them to be safe?"_

Adora winced. That was one of the worst things about Shadow Weaver. Good intentions turned _bad_ when she touched them.

"Catra's dead," whispered Adora, holding Shadow Weaver in a furious gaze. "And Lonnie. You killed both of them."

 _"No, Adora. They still live."_ Shadow Weaver's deathless eyes flashed white. _"They're in the cells, waiting to be sent to Beast Island. If we leave now, there's still time."_

This information settled in Adora's head like a bucket of water over a blazing fire. Her gaze fell, and the walls of the light encircling her memory began to tremble.

 _"You can still save everyone, Adora,"_ whispered Shadow Weaver, urgently. _"With your new power, we can fix all of this. We can take the pain away."_

The light screamed inside Adora. It screamed that nothing Shadow Weaver said or did could ever excuse the hell she'd inflicted upon Adora and her squadron. But Adora could feel herself screaming back, begging herself to go home and make amends and live in a dream world where she had both Shadow Weaver's approval and Catra's love and power and respect and an army to command and a throne and a legacy and all the ration bars she could eat...

...Adora felt her hand start to move of its own accord, ready to remove the barriers around her memory and let Shadow Weaver take her by the hand into a new and glorious future...

...then she looked at the light, all around her. That's all it was, in the end. Light. Magical, arcane, and beyond her understanding, but still, light. A light that let her see things for what they really are, no matter how much it hurt. And right now, as the light hit Shadow Weaver's body, it showed someone who would never, ever stop fighting to control her.

Adora put her hand down and returned it to its rightful place. Stroking Catra's ears.

There was a heavy silence as Shadow Weaver glared down at her now literally golden cadet.

No words were exchanged, but Shadow Weaver understood she'd failed. _"I tried to be kind to you, Adora,"_ she whispered. _"You cannot say I didn't try."_

As Adora opened her mouth to retort, something strange happened. A small stream of bubbles escaped from between her lips and ascended a few feet into the air before bursting as if she was underwater. Adora’s hands flew to her throat, suddenly choking.

 _"Have you forgotten already, child?"_ said Shadow Weaver. She was rising up, extruding shadowy hands and tendrils from her robes.

Adora fell to the ground, her lungs fighting the urge collapse. The brilliant blue sky around her suddenly darkened.

 _“This light exists in your mind, Adora,”_ said Shadow Weaver, watching Adora gasp in agony. “ _But_ _your body still lies unprotected in the Black Garnet Chamber. In a bathtub. Your head has been under the water for some time, child, and your lungs scream for air…”_

The light suffusing Adora's body flickered. She didn’t have any breath left to cry, so she wept silent tears.

_"You were never in control, Adora. Not for one single moment."_

Adora collapsed, her chest heaving in a futile struggle for oxygen. The glowing memory of Catra tumbled lifelessly onto the dusty ground as she fell.

 _“Don’t worry, I won’t let you die **,** ” _Shadow Weaver added. Her tone was casual even as she watched Adora gasping in agony. _“I will simply wait until you are at your weakest. Then I will proceed with the ritual as planned._ _I’ll see to it you make a full recovery. Physically, that is. Mentally, you will be a very different girl. Adora in name only."_ The sorceress looked down and stared deep into Adora's bloodshot baby blue eyes. _"Perhaps I will even give you a new name...”_

Fear clenched Adora’s chest. She looked up desperately and saw the protective bubble of light was shrinking, caving in under the pressure of a thousand shadowy tendrils. It was starting to crack like a glass dome, and the dark was already seeping in.

 _"Yes, a new name, a new squadron..."_ muttered Shadow Weaver. _"A clean slate."_

The light gave way. The shadows descended. Merciless. Unstoppable.

Adora crawled on the ground, desperate to reach for the memory of Catra before the shadows did. But they dragged her away with brutal, overwhelming force. Veins in Adora's neck stood out as she tried to cry out for her kitten, but it was no use. Adora watched through half-drowned eyes as Shadow Weaver glided over to the faintly glowing memory of Catra. For a moment, everything Adora feared stood triumphant over everything Adora loved.

Straining against the binding shadows, Adora opened her mouth and expended all of her remaining breath just to speak.

“…mom…”

Shadow Weaver paused. She looked back and locked eyes with Adora. Her golden cadet. The little baby who'd stopped crying when she'd cradled them in her arms, all those years ago.

“…please…”

In the end, all Adora managed to do was get Shadow Weaver to hesitate.

The sorceress turned away, her tendrils descended, and the memory of Catra dissolved into the void like dust in the wind.

Adora could do nothing but watch and feel the memories pouring out of herself like blood from a freshly-slit throat. There was pain, and soul-destroying terror, but also a strange peace. She was becoming numb. An empty vessel. In her final moments of consciousness, Adora realized that Shadow Weaver was right. She was going to forget ever having forgotten in the first place...

Then Adora's eyes closed and she went limp, looking for all the world as if she was dead.

After a moment of wary silence, Shadow Weaver gave a long, exasperated sigh.

 _"Rest, now, rest,"_ whispered Shadow Weaver, speaking as much to herself as to Adora. _"We have much work to do..."_

Out of the corner of her corrupted eye, Shadow Weaver saw the last speck of light left glowing amidst the shadows that now occupied every corner of Adora's mind. It was smaller than an insect.

Shadow Weaver reached out to crush it. Behind her back, Adora opened her eyes.

Her baby blues rolled over into pure inhuman white.

And at that moment, Adora ceased to exist.

The girl who used to be Adora stepped forward. As she moved, she tore apart the binding shadows as if they were thin cobwebs. The light wasn't just shielding her body now. It was destroying it. Remaking it. By the time she was within arm's reach of Shadow Weaver, she was a full head taller than the sorceress.

Shadow Weaver stepped back and, for the first time since she’d summoned the Spell of Obtainment into the chambers of Mystacor, felt fear.

She cried the spell to end the ritual and felt her corporeal form start to rematerialize just as she heard a sword unsheathing-

* * *

Only the faint dripping of bathwater broke the silence in the Black Garnet Chamber.

The Black Garnet, used and abused to the very limit of its ancient processing power, slumbered darkly in the center of the room. No longer glowing, the Black Garnet instead spat bolts of arcane power into the ceiling, washing the chamber in short, blood-red flashes of light.

It flashed, showing a bathtub kicked onto its side, water long since drained away.

It flashed again, illuminating an ancient mask discarded onto the floor.

It flashed one last time, revealing a mother and daughter, embracing in the darkness.

Shadow Weaver looked up at Adora. Or at least, what remained of Adora. 

Then Shadow Weaver looked down.

The hilt of a sword was protruding from her thin chest. Blood spread rapidly across her robes.

The white lights of Shadow Weaver's eyes were already growing dim as she looked back up at the one holding the sword. With no breath left in her lungs, Shadow Weaver's lips formed the words. “A...dor…ra..."

Without so much as a change in her expression, the warrior pulled back the sword. It disappeared with the same flash of light that summoned it.

Shadow Weaver slumped to the floor. Her daughter was already striding away with cold, unfeeling determination. Shadow Weaver heard a crash as the solid iron doors of the Black Garnet Chamber were torn off their hinges. Somewhere outside the room, a pair of guards screamed an order to halt, then cried out at the top of their lungs before their screams were terminated in a deafening crash of twisted metal.

By the time the emergency sirens screamed into life across the Fright Zone, Shadow Weaver had already lost consciousness.

* * *

In a desk in the corner of the Black Garnet Chamber, there sat an old-looking ceramic plate.

The plate was one of the few things Shadow Weaver had kept from her life outside the Fright Zone. From a time when she would invite her favorite students to drink tea and watch the moons rise over Mystacor. 

In the middle of the plate sat a ration bar, still in its wrapper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon compliant? What's that?


	20. The Ascent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Content warning: death mention / blood / implied physical abuse / verbal abuse / emotional abuse]
> 
>  _When the lambs is lost in the mountain, he said. They is cry. Sometime come the mother. Sometime the wolf._ \- Cormac McCarthy

The guards in the Beast Island transit cells were nervous.

It wasn't the sound of the attack sirens that had them on edge. Emergency sirens were just part of the natural ambiance of the Fright Zone, but nobody had ever heard anything like this. The eternal engine of the Fright Zone has going haywire. Every sector of every floor of the entire tower was on full alert. Emergency response robots had been dispatched to the upper floors to intercept and destroy. They had not returned. Whatever monster had been unleashed upon Horde was taking no prisoners.

The urge to drop their weapons and run was overwhelming, but obedience was deeply ingrained in the brain of every Horde soldier. Nobody dared leave their post.

In the cell behind them, two cadets lay together on the floor. Catra lay slumped against the wall while Lonnie whimpered in her lap, whimpering and shiny with cold sweat. They were neither asleep nor awake but so tired and aching that they could barely move.

Catra felt Lonnie stir. The girl was covered in squirming black magical scarring from her binding at the hands of Shadow Weaver and clutching at Catra like a half-asleep baby. Catra sighed deeply but did not resist. Since Adora’s breakdown and the fury of Shadow Weaver that had followed, the urge to fight disappeared from Catra’s body, and in its place was a silent desire to be held by someone. Anyone. Even her most hated rival.

There was another distant explosion. The guards muttered to each-other nervously. Every soldier there was a veteran of multiple raids but had never experienced an attack on the Fright Zone itself. They were so tense that they almost jumped when Force Captain Octavia rounded the corner covered in ash and sweating. 

“Grab your stuff!” Octavia had to roar to be heard as yet another explosion from above shook sparks from the ceiling. “We are leaving!”

“What’s happening up there?” asked one of the guards.

Octavia rounded on him like a vengeful sea goddess. “Where’s my _fucking_ salute?”

“Yes, Force Captain!” gibbered the soldier, standing to attention. “Sorry, Force Captain!”

In the dark depths of the cell, Catra looked up. Which was not an easy thing to do at this stage. She felt like a corpse dragging itself out of a grave. With some effort, she managed to tilt her head upwards and squint through the red-tinted forcefield at her captors. Their voices were muffled.

“This place is done for!” Octavia announced to the circle of guards. “We are _evacuating_! Hordak is going to bring the whole tower on top of the enemy before she destroys the entire Fright Zone!”

One of the guards flinched. “Wait, Captain, it’s a ‘she’?”

“Yep!” said Octavia, with a crazed grin. “We got a princess on our hands, boys!”

Octavia gave a wheezing chuckle as the soldiers exchanged terrified looks. Inside the cell, Catra’s ears twitched. She thought she heard the word ‘evacuating’ but wasn’t sure. It was hard for her brain to be heard after her latest binding from Weaver had set her nervous system screaming.

Guards began stuffing gear rapidly into satchels, preparing to make a desperate retreat into the night. A guard weighed down with a bandolier of stun-rods hesitated on his way out the door. “What about the prisoners, captain?” they asked.

“Leave the brats to me,” growled Octavia.

The guards didn’t need to be told twice. As the sound of thumping jackboots died away, Octavia turned to the two abused cadets cowering in their prison. Catra wilted under the burning one-eyed glare that smoldered on the other end of the force-field. She did not like the way Octavia was smiling. She was grinning like someone who’d just seen an old friend. Or something good to eat. It was hard to tell the difference.

“Hey kitten,” whispered Octavia.

The Force Captain knelt down to Catra’s level and glared through the forcefield. More explosions detonated in the unseen levels of the tower, high above them, and one of the light fixtures burst in a shower of glass. The cell was plunged into shadow and for a moment, all that was visible of Octavia was a single lambent eye hovering in the dark.

Lonnie whimpered again, burying her head in Catra’s chest. Catra drew her shivering rival closer and held her tight. It was almost funny. On any other day, Catra would rather have died than be touched by Lonnie so intimately, but now she clung to her fellow cadet without hesitation.

“Where’s Adora?” cooed Octavia. She gave a mocking frown and her tone dropped into false sympathy. “Did she get in trouble with shadow mommy again?”

Catra shut her eyes with an expression that might have been mistaken for calm. She was anything but calm. Catra would have screamed and spat if she had a little more energy, but all the fight had drained out of her like blood from an arterial wound. There was nothing she could do now. Nothing but wait for Octavia to have her fun.

“Guess she couldn’t save you, huh?” Octavia tilted her tentacle-maned head to the side. “Had to happen sometime, kitty. But don’t worry, I won’t leave you here to die.”

Octavia slammed a tendril into a nearby control panel. The forcefield flickered away and she stepped into the cell. Despite everything, Catra’s ears pricked up hopefully.

“I’m just gonna kill you right now,” said Octavia, cheerily.

Catra’s ears flattened as the Force Captain knelt down and retrieved the knife from the leather holster on her boot. It glinted even in the darkness of the cell, giving Catra a glimpse of a serrated blade that was almost as long as her forearm. Catra gripped Lonnie’s body tighter.

“Not exactly fair punishment for a brat who cost me fifteen wasted years and an eyeball, but hey, they don’t call this place the Fair Zone, do they?” Octavia chuckled mirthlessly as she saw Catra turn away in fear. She grabbed Catra's chin and forced her head back. “Come on, kitty. Where’s that sassy grin of yours now?”

 _Just think of Adora,_ thought Catra as she clenched her eyes shut. She could feel Octavia press the huge knife to her throat, feel the serrated edge drawing tiny beads of blood from her soft fur. _Think of Adora, think of Adora..._

The blade stopped just short of opening up Catra’s windpipe. An arm had curled itself around Octavia’s neck. Catra looked up and saw a thin, pale cadet with blonde hair had clambered onto Octavia’s shoulders and got her in a headlock. 

“Cadet _Kyle?_ ” growled the Octavia. She staggered backward out of the cell as Kyle tried to wrench his arm tighter around her windpipe. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Choking you out!” cried Kyle, grunting. “I won’t let you take my friends!”

Octavia looked awkwardly from side to side, then back up at Kyle’s thin face, which was still clenched in a futile effort. “ _This_ is what you call choking out?“ she scoffed. “I can’t even feel it.”

“Shut up!” cried Kyle, his face turning red.

“This is just embarrassing,” muttered Octavia.

Kyle snarled. “I won’t let you hurt them again!”

“You really think a pipsqueak like you can choke out a Force Captain?”

“I can _try!_ ” Kyle screamed tearfully. 

Kyle bent every ounce of his remaining energy towards restraining Octavia, but for all his good intentions Kyle had just crawled out of the infirmary and consequently had the grip strength of a small infant. As hard as he tried, Octavia was bigger and stronger in almost every way. After a few more moments of awkward shuffling, Octavia sighed and effortlessly flipped Kyle over her shoulders. Kyle slammed into the floor with a high-pitched yelp that soon became a weak gurgle as Octavia’s heavy boot pressed into his neck.

“Should’ve done this a long time ago,” muttered Octavia, readying her knife again. “Congrats, runt. You get to die in battle. I hope it was worth it.”

“Plan B!” gurgled Kyle, gesturing madly to someone further down the hallway. “Plan B!!”

Suddenly, Octavia heard heavy footsteps slamming into the grated floor. She snarled and spun around just in time to block Rogelio’s claw as it descended like a scaly hammer. Octavia countered with a lashing tendril that struck Rogelio across the snout. He recoiled, baring his teeth in fury.

“Ha! You almost got me!” said Octavia, squaring up. “Not bad for a brainless rep-”

Octavia never finished her insult, because at that exact moment Kyle jumped upwards and stabbed something into her back. The Force Captain roared like a harpooned kraken and sent Kyle spinning backward across the room with a hard elbow to the face

“Mother-fucking-shit!” roared Octavia, as she wrenched the sharp object from her back. “What is _wrong_ with everyone in this _fucking_ squadron? Are you all insane?”

Octavia glared at the offending object with her one lambent eye. It was a syringe. The anger on Octavia’s face drained into pale fear as she read the label on the side. TRANQUILISER.

“Oh,” said Octavia. Her powerful legs started buckling. “Oh, you…little…bastaaaardd…”

The Force Captain collapsed like a felled tree. Rogelio stomped over and gingerly touched her with his foot then sighed with relief when the merwoman just began snoring loudly into the floor. The medicine they’d swiped from the infirmary had done its job well.

“We’re dead,” groaned Kyle as he helped Rogelio drag Octavia into one of the empty cells. “Drugging a Force Captain? Even if we survive, we are gonna be in so much trouble.”

Rogelio gave Kyle a skeptical growl and gestured at their surroundings.

“You’re right,” said Kyle. “I guess it’s impossible for us to be in any more trouble than we already are…”

They crept into the open cell. It was quiet inside. Almost peaceful. The cacophony of explosions and emergency sirens that overwhelmed the outside corridor was muffled by the dense metal walls of the transit cell. The Horde were excellent prison-makers. They designed their cells so nothing could escape them, not even sound.

“Please don’t be dead…” muttered Kyle as he stepped towards the two huddled forms at the end of the cell. “Please…”

A pair of glowing blue-gold eyes flashed open in the darkness. Kyle was startled. Fear gripped him but so did a kind of strange hope. Even with her body broken and bruised, Catra’s heterochromatic glare had not lost any of its usual power to scare the hell out of Kyle.

Then Kyle’s gaze fell to Lonnie, and he felt a burning lump rise in his throat. Tears formed in the corners of his sleepy blue eyes when he saw the magical burns crawling across Lonnie’s arms and head. He was not prepared to see Lonnie like this. For years Kyle had known Lonnie as a figure of strength always jabbing him on the arm or dragging him out of a pile of broken bots, and now she’d been reduced to a shivering wreck. 

And then Kyle saw one of Lonnie’s hands curling and uncurling. Beckoning him.

“L-Lonnie?” breathed Kyle, leaning forwards.

Lonnie opened her eyes. Her hand curled into a trembling fist and punched Kyle on the nose. Kyle recoiled, more out of surprise than pain, and was caught by Rogelio.

“Gotcha…” breathed Lonnie, her voice barely a whisper. She began to laugh feebly but the laughter caught in her throat and become a pained choke. Lonnie’s face contorted with pain as she started to cry. Kyle flew forward and grabbed Lonnie’s hand. She felt cold to the touch.

“What happened?” murmured Kyle.

“Weaver...bound her...” said Catra. Her voice was as exhausted as her body. “Then she...took...Adora...”

Kyle looked down at Lonnie. “Can she walk?” he whispered, without looking up.

Catra sighed, then looked up and glared at Kyle with new ferocity. “Shut up, Kyle,” she hissed. Her voice was quiet but urgent. “Take her.”

Rogelio strode past Kyle and knelt down solemnly at Catra’s side. Even though Rogelio looked dead on his feet, he scooped Lonnie up into his arms as if she weighed nothing at all. Catra winced as the weight was lifted off her bruised legs, while Lonnie whimpered at the pain of movement. Rogelio growled something to her in a low voice, then Lonnie buried her face in the crook of Rogelio’s scaly neck and let loose grateful tears onto his shoulder.

Kyle watched Rogelio carry Lonnie out of the cell, then turned to look at Catra now sat alone and staring into the cold metal floor. “Do you need me to lift you up too?” he mumbled.

Catra didn’t answer. Kyle grasped his uniform awkwardly. He felt compelled to offer some kind of explanation. “The infirmary kicked us out once the evacuation sirens sounded, and we found out you were prisoners, we followed Octavia and…” Kyle’s voice trailed off as his mind slowly grasped the situation in its full. “Where’s Adora?” he gasped.

Catra's gaze was pulled back. She stood up. She didn’t know where the strength came from.

“Weaver…” Catra croaked. “…the Black Garnet Chamber…I have to...go...”

“Catra,” said Kyle, anxiety wavering his voice. “I-I'm sorry, but you can't...”

There was a moment of silence as Catra's expression changed from fear to anger. Fire rose in her eyes as some other part of her brain took over. When she spoke again it was in a growl that made Kyle's spine tingle.

“Get out of my way.”

Sparks showered from the ceiling as the two cadets stared at each other. Catra's face was a mask of exhausted fury, while Kyle's face bore the expression of someone being forced to act against the principles of self-preservation that had kept them alive and (mostly) unharmed for years in a system designed to make kids into killers. Kyle had never confronted Catra about, well, _anything_ before. Normally he just kept his head down and tried to stay out of range of her claws, but now there was no escaping confrontation. Kyle took a deep breath before speaking.

“Please, Catra,” he began. He held up his hands defensively. “I know you don’t wanna hear this, but we have to get out while we still can.”

Catra did not break eye contact. “Fuck off, Kyle,” she said, coldly.

“B-But Hordak’s gonna blow up-”

“I know!” roared Catra, startling Kyle with a sudden burst of feral energy. “But I won’t leave Adora to get hurt because of me. Not again.”

Kyle put his palms to his forehead, his eyes wide. “This place is going to be a pile of rubble in less than an hour!” he argued. "Even if you make it to the Black Garnet _before_ the building collapses, do you think Shadow Weaver will let you take her? She'll kill you!”

Catra’s lips curled, showing Kyle a wall of sharp, gritted fangs. “So you want me to abandon Adora?”

“No! I would never- I just- want you to _live!_ ” Kyle cried. His voice had grown a watery undertone that betrayed the fact he was just barely holding back a flood of frightened tears. “Adora's done so much for us, and I'm not strong enough to lose both you and Adora tonight! It's too much, and I can't-"

“Shut your mouth," growled Catra. "Don't lie to me. There's only one person in this whole fucking world who cares about me, and it's not you."

Kyle neither moved nor made any reply. Catra took another step forward. The terror in Kyle's eyes intensified but he did not budge.

“You idiot…” A joyless smirk tickled the edges of Catra’s mouth. She flexed her claws. “Of all the times to grow a spine, you choose now?" Her eyes twitched. "Where was that confidence when Shadow Weaver asked you to _beat_ me, huh?”

Catra took dark pleasure in seeing Kyle's eyes brim with guilty tears. Just before he started to sob, a quiet and raw-throated voice spoke out from outside the cell.

"Catra..."

Both Kyle and Catra turned around quickly. They saw Rogelio with Lonnie cradled in his arms. She was looking at Catra with eyes that were red and desperate.

"I'm...sorry..." said Lonnie.

For a stretch of time that could be measured in heartbeats, Catra was at a loss for words.

Then she kicked Kyle in the back as hard as she possibly could.

Catra didn’t have any strength left in her wiry feline body for anything more than a small kick but it was enough to send Kyle flying out of the cell. He landed heavily against Rogelio and Lonnie and sent all three of them tumbling onto the steel floor of the outside corridor. Catra stepped forward and regarded her squadron with eyes that were full of rage but, at the same time, not without regret.

"Leave," warned Catra. "Go be happy with each other. Just don't follow me."

By the time they looked up, Catra was gone.

* * *

Tears attacked Catra's eyes, and she blinked them away. She had to be strong, she knew it, but her body had passed the point of no return a long time ago. 'Exhausted' didn't even begin to describe the fatigue that weighed on every fiber of Catra's starving body. A week of no food and plenty of trauma meant her body was on the edge of total collapse. Her innermost well of adrenalin had run dry. She no longer knew what was keeping her conscious, and every step she took without collapsing seemed like a miracle.

The Fright Zone looked as bad as Catra felt. The automatic emergency beacons had turned the once brightly lit corridors into a maze of shadows. Catra staggered on undaunted, trying not to think about the fact that an enemy could be around every corner. Somewhere high above, there was another explosion.

 _Just think of Adora,_ Catra told herself as the floor shifted under her feet. _Think of Adora..._

Catra knew the way to the Black Garnet Chamber all too well. She could have walked there with her eyes closed. The route had been etched into her mind from childhood since the first time she’d took the walk of shame up to those big iron doors and limped out again dribbling tears and clutching whatever part of her anatomy Weaver had chosen to punish.

Yet as she grew closer to the chamber, Catra found herself in an unfamiliar world. Ahead of her, the corridors became twisted and jagged as huge sheets of metal had been ripped out of place. Steam hissed from broken pipes. Sparks spat from wires that had been torn from the walls.

Catra felt her blood run cold as the narrow corridors suddenly opened out into a wide-open crater. At first, Catra thought a missile had hit the roof of the tower, but as she looked up, she saw the truth. Something had burst its way _upwards_ through several feet of vents, pipes, and wires and somehow had enough energy to keep going to the next floor, and the next, and the next, and the next…

She looked up. Catra's keen feline eyes struggled to see through the mess, but she could feel a cold wind howling through the tunnel, and her sensitive ears twitched as she caught the sound of a battle echoing down from the distant unseen heights of the Fright Zone. Then a technicolor glint in the corner of Catra's eye caught her attention. She turned, backed away from the crater, and saw that blotches of rainbow-like colors were smeared across the edges.

Catra swallowed hard. Rainbows were the trademark sign of a princess attack.

She had to find Adora quickly. War had come to the Fright Zone, and for all her lifetime of training, she was not ready to fight. She just wanted to find Adora and run far away.

 _Think of Adora,_ Catra thought as she staggered on.

Catra's mind strained to avoid imagining what could have happened to Adora in the Black Garnet Chamber. Even if she somehow, through some inexplicable miracle, saved Adora from Shadow Weaver's clutches, would it be too late? Would there be any Adora left to save?

With great effort, Catra twisted her mind away from the uncertain future and anchored it in the present, trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other...

The Black Garnet Chamber’s solid metal doors had been peeled back and ripped off their hinges. Dark energy seemed to pour out from the open doorway. Catra could almost taste the magic. She could feel it brushing its claws against her body, ready for some sorceress to guide it downwards into her nerve-endings and make her squeal and beg for forgiveness. Yet there was no intelligence guiding the magic anymore. It hung in the air like smoke after a huge explosion, curling up into the air in random patterns before disappearing.

Something was very, very wrong.

Catra took a deep breath, clenched her fists until her knuckles whitened, then she stepped into the magical gloom. _Think of Adora,_ Catra repeated as her mind strained itself to stay awake. 

The chamber was too dark to be seen with any kind of reliable accuracy. Catra's glowing eyes darted back and forth in search of threats, but there were no threats here. Only ruins. The Black Garnet was spitting red sparks like a broken lightbulb, while the machines that wired the ancient runestone into the Fright Zone's power grid lay shattered around it like broken toys.

A cold trickling sensation informed Catra her feet were soaked. She looked down and saw there was water all over the floor. Not just water. Water mingled with blood. Catra's wide-open eyes followed the trickle of wine-red lifeblood to the broad pool that spread across the chamber floor, leading up to the dark figure braced against the wall with a brutal, glistening, open wound almost covering her whole chest.

Then the figure's head turned to watch her.

It was Shadow Weaver. Weak. Maskless. Not dead but slowly, unavoidably, dying.

Catra felt her body begin to quake. She shut her eyes. This was too much. She wasn’t strong enough. Her brain had to focus on one nightmare at a time if she was going to stay conscious. She ached for the chance to scream at Shadow Weaver and let loose the tide of anger she'd been holding back for years of humiliation and punishment. But there was too much to say, and not enough time to say it in. Right now, Catra was laser-focused on her one singular goal. Saving Adora.

“Where is she?” Catra asked.

There was no response. Shadow Weaver’s chest slowly rose and fell.

“What did you do to her?” breathed Catra.

Then Shadow Weaver spoke. Or at least, her mind spoke. Shadow Weaver's telepathic voice was barely a whisper, but it carried deep into Catra’s mind like an echo. It was the voice of something that had no more life or energy behind it except for a small amount of magic, and that too was starting to fade away.

_Hush, kitten. Let me die in peace._

"Shut up," growled Catra, her voice growing forceful. “You tell me where Adora is, right now."

_You cannot help her._

"Yes, I can. And I'm gonna start by helping her escape."

_She has already escaped, child._

"What are you talking-"

_Look around you._

As if on cue, the sound of a distant explosion almost jarred Catra off her feet. The Black Garnet Chamber shook ominously and ripples shimmered on the surface of the pool of blood.

Catra gazed upward, her mind reeling at the thought of the roaring battle occurring above her head. She looked over her shoulder at the broken chamber doors. They were solid reinforced iron yet something - or someone - had bent them as if they were made of cheap tin. Not even the largest robots in the Fright Zone could wield that kind of strength. Catra suddenly felt very cold. 

_At long last, the warrior inside her soul has been unleashed,_ intoned Shadow Weaver's voice, almost mumbling to herself. _Too mad to live, too strong to die. Cruel irony..._

“You mean…" Catra swallowed. "She made...the crater outside...and the door...that was..."

_Yes, child. Impressive, isn't it?_

Catra felt fresh cracks appearing in the delicate crystal glass which held the tiny delicate vestiges of her sanity. She didn't understand. Catra knew there were hundreds of reasons why Adora might have attacked Shadow Weaver, or tried to escape, but why would she stay and fight the entire Fright Zone?

"Adora did all of this?" Catra whispered, as her legs threatened to buckle.

_No. Not Adora. Adora is no more._

"What did you do?" whispered Catra, her voice sharp with fear and anger.

_I broke her, but I could not rebuild her. So she rebuilt herself into something...terrible...  
_

Catra was silent as she stared into Shadow Weaver's half-dead eyes. "What the fuck did you expect?" spat Catra, and suddenly her voice was thick with emotion. "She was so scared of you, she lost her mind. But I'll save her. Do you hear me? I'll bring her back."

_You can't. I tried, and look what became of me. If she won't listen to her teacher, what hope do you have?_

Lightning flashed in Catra's head. "If Adora didn't listen to you, it's because she knows better!" she growled. "But she'll listen to me. I know she will, she has to listen to me..."

_She is not the girl you knew. She will kill you._

Fear made Catra glance down again. She wanted to contradict Weaver, but this was not her world. This was magic and runestones and all the ancient forces beyond the understanding of a low-ranking Horde cadet. "But if I bring you with me," Catra began, in a slow voice. "You can use your magic to fix her-"

_No._

Catra’s fangs gritted in frustration. Her throat burned with anger so hot and visceral it almost drove her to stab Shadow Weaver a second time. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” she hissed. "We've only got a few minutes! I can't make it up to her in time, but if you use magic, we can go up to the roof, we can still save her!"

_Look at me, child. Do I look like I will live that long?_

Catra managed to force herself to gaze on Shadow Weaver's wounds. It just occurred to Catra that this was the only time she'd seen Shadow Weaver bleed.

_I am going to die, Catra._

There was silence as the words sank into Catra's mind like tiny knives. She lifted her trembling hands to wipe her face and only then realized tears were coursing down her cheeks. Catra snarled in anger even as she sobbed. She knew the tears which were now soaking her face weren’t just for Adora. They were for Shadow Weaver. Her tormentor. Her worst nightmare. Her mother.

“No," mumbled Catra, snuffling. “You can’t die now...”

_I certainly can, child. I’ve been stabbed through the heart. Now hush, kitten, and let me die in peace._

“No, no no!” Catra cried, raw fury filling every inch of her body, bristling her fur and raising her voice, “You can’t leave us like this! You broke everything! You broke Adora, now you have to fix her! You have to…to…fix _me_ …”

Furious sobs boiled out of Catra's mouth as another explosion rocked the Black Garnet Chamber. The whole tower was starting to shudder as if an earthquake had struck the Fright Zone. Shadow Weaver did not move even as a fissure split the wall behind her. Weaver's eyes seemed to be the only part of her that was not already dead. She returned Catra's desperate, furious stare with a look of grave indifference.

_I never had any obligation to fix you, Catra. You were born broken. I knew the day they placed you in my hands. A squealing, broken, unwanted little beast. And I will not apologize-_

In an instant, Catra was right in Shadow Weaver's face, scrambling on her knees to grab the sorceress by the bloodsoaked collar of her robes and pull her close.

"I don't have _time_ to be abused by you anymore!" growled Catra. "I'm not begging, Shadow Weaver! I am _telling_ you. If you want to help Adora, you'll help me. That's what you want, isn't it? To help Adora?"

_You don't know what I want, child. Nobody ever has._

"Well, I know you don't want me!" wheezed Catra, laughing bitterly. She gestured to her body and all the old scars and burns Weaver had carved into it over too many years. "I've known that ever since I was a kitten!" Catra's gaze fell, her crazed smile wobbled, and fresh tears ran down her cheeks. "But we both want _Adora._ Don't you get it? We both love her."

Shadow Weaver looked down. Her gaze seemed to fall through the floor and into absolute nothingness.

_I have no love to give to anyone, Catra. Not even myself._

"You're full of shit," snarled Catra, laughing bitterly. "All those years, all those nights you spent teaching her, telling her how proud you were, that's not a lie. You don't want her to die here. Not like this. You always said Adora deserved the best..."

Shadow Weaver continued to look down. In the middle of the room, the Black Garnet grew dim, like the flame of a candle that was reaching the very end of its wick. Catra did not take her eyes off Weaver's face even for one second.

Then, Weaver's gaze withdrew from some distant abyss and her ethereal death-rattling rang out again.

 _I can send you to her. But that is all the magic I have left. After that, you will be on your own. You will face Adora. She will hurt you._ The corners of Weaver's limp mouth twitched in a feeble attempt at a smirk. _But I suppose you're used to pain, aren't you?_

"You would know, mom," whispered Catra.

Shadow Weaver's eyes fell still. As they did, the shadows spread out from her bloodsoaked body. They rose up and enfolded Catra like the wings of some vast and terrible mother bird, and when they withdrew they dissolved into nothing and revealed not the walls of the Black Garnet Chamber but the open expanse of the night sky...

* * *

Catra staggered as she was suddenly buffeted by a violent gale. Her breath quickened as she gazed at her new surroundings. With her dying breath, Shadow Weaver had taken her to the very top of the tower.

Electricity zapped between the vast superstructures as fireballs plumed into the air from below. Normally the Fright Zone looked oddly peaceful from so high up, but now Catra could only see chaos. Chaos and...rainbows...

Suddenly, an assault bot flew overhead. It had been sliced in two. Both of its halves tumbled through the air, trailing sparks, and crashed onto the roof in a shriek of rending steel. Catra watched with her mouth agape as she looked around to see the roof was covered in bots of all shapes and sizes that had been similarly bisected. Then, Catra's ears flattened as they picked up the long, hissing sound of a sword being pulled from its sheath...

Catra turned, looked up into the face of the terrifying blonde warrior, and responded the only way she knew how.

"H-Hey, Adora..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deepest apologies guys - three months is a long time to wait for one chapter! You are the most patient and thoughtful readership a dumb angst-writer like me could ask for. I never imagined that a fic I wrote would ever get 10,000 hits, and now that it was I am honestly overwhelmed. This darksome tale is nearing the end, and I hope it will have been worth your trouble...


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